Legacy of Kain: Heritage
by Kojiokida2
Summary: Driven to action by the promises of the Seer, Vorador sets out on his own journey of discovery into the dark world of Nosgoth. Hidden from him are impossibly old secrets that could change the war with the Divus and a universal legacy for him to discover, guarded by feral beasts and all while under the looming shadow of the living, winged personification of Death.
1. Prologue

(A note to my fans: I am very very very sorry! I know you've all been waiting a year for this series to pick up again. But I had deep personal issues that kept me from writing pretty much anything. However your continued persistence had stirred me. I am back. And so is Vorador, in this brand new story to continue my Legacy of Kain continuity. I'm releasing this prologue ahead of the main actual story which is still in development. Why? Because you guys have waited an entire year for the story and I owe you a little something to snack on before the main course so to speak. You'll notice that this prologue is also longer than others before it. I felt that it ought to be big in order to satisfy in the meantime. Thank you for listening and now on with the greatly delayed story.)

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"_I am a father. I am a son. I have seen cities fall and empires rise. I have avenged wrongs and stood against tyrants. I have embraced the abyss of death and clawed my way back out of the underworld. And yet__**,**__ despite all of these hallmarks of my life, despite all the prodigious__**, **__titanic events that have shaken Nosgoth time and again, there is only one__thing that truly matters to me. It is the one thing no man, be they mortal or immortal, can do without... Family."_

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**_Legacy of Kain: HERITAGE_**

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The Age of Men, that was what the last century had been dubbed. The liberator, Moebius of the Circle of Nine, had proclaimed this upon the victory over the black winged horrors. All of their cities had been torn down and laid to waste, and nearly every trace of their empire was destroyed. All that was left were a few dilapidated structures in isolated places in the world and were allowed to remain, left to be overgrown by the wilderness.

Men spread out across the continent of Nosgoth in that time, travelling to wherever they desired. The black winged slave masters had forbidden this before, preferring to keep their workforce in one place where they could be easily controlled. Now that restriction had been lifted and migrations took the human population out in nearly all directions.

Some went south to the dry lands past the ocean. Others went north over the mountains and became nomads following herds of wild cattle. Many went east to the strange lands past the Lake of Serenity, a land of jagged cliffs, bogs and swamps full monstrous giant insects and permanent snows. Most preferred to settle across the central plain of Nosgoth as it was the most fertile and productive land.

Villages sprung up in many locations and already established settlements were quickly becoming towns, if not full cities in their own right.

Ottmar, the descendant of one of the key generals in the old uprising, had begun construction of a city on an island in the middle of the Lake of Serenity. This he dubbed Willendorf with the intention of beginning a mighty kingdom in that region. Other regional rulers seemed to be following his example, proclaiming themselves kings of their own respective kingdoms here and there.

The Circle of Nine encouraged the growth of these kingdoms, various Guardians supporting one specific kingdom over another. It was known that the guardians of Nature, States and Mind were in favour of Willendorf while the guardians of Conflict, Energy and Dimension patronized its northern neighbour. Most of the world was in awe of the nine great sorcerers and their crusading army.

The ancient soldiers that had driven the ancient terrors away was no more, but the army itself had survived over the generations. They had adapted and evolved, adopted new tactics and mastered different weaponry in their holy mission. In this era they were called the 'Sarafan', and it was their sworn mission to hunt down the vampires, the spawn of the only remaining black winged devil, Janos Audron, and exterminate their taint once and for all.

But there was a place where no one would go; no crusader, no magician, no vampire and no king. It was a place that had since the beginning of time, as far as anyone knew, been a location where those foolish enough to venture near suffered a fate worse than death.

The complex was ancient, in so far as it could be called so. In fact, the very concept of time could not really be applied to it. When it was constructed was an impossible thing to determine as the structure itself defied causality. It was a place of endless 'now', where souls unfortunate enough to be entrapped within could live out a tortured eternity while only a second passed beyond its walls. No one knew for certain what occurred within those walls, as those who entered never came back out.

The 'Eternal Prison' as it was called, was old when the Ancients had flown through the skies of Nosgoth. It was old during the terribly destructive conflict with the Unspoken. It was even old when the prophet, Raziel-Divus, had first spread the Wheel of Fate religion, which even now persisted amongst the humans, albeit in a reduced form.

The humans, who even after a mere century had forgotten such things, never went near the prison. No one ever spoke of it directly. Sea captains went out of their way to avoid sailing past the rocky promontory upon which the prison stood. It was considered the worst kind of bad luck to even see the black fortress-like structure, and going near it was considered a horrible risk that only a fool would endure.

Not even the mighty Circle of Nine, powerful though they might be, dared to go near this structure unless absolutely necessary. So the prison stood unattended, black and grim against the pounding of the sea. The land around it was untouched by the feet of man or beast. Nothing grew for a mile in any direction from it, not as much as a single blade of grass. It was a frozen place and time was suspended within and around it.

The prison had no windows and only one visible entrance: a ponderous, pitted iron door flanked on either side by a pair of strange statues, each figure strangely alien despite a humanoid appearance, and holding as their weapons cruelly curving scythes. At various points around the building's outer perimeter was a series of stone braziers, and each one burned continuously without the need for anyone to tend to the flames.

The dark figure took all this in with a grim expression as he looked out at the bleak, foreboding spectacle from his position on the cliff side, the wind tossing his long raven black hair around his angular face. He was crouched on the edge of a rocky crevice, just hidden from view by an outcropping of rock. But from there he could see everything. As he had expected, nobody came along the abandoned cliff path to approach the stone walkway that bridged the cliffs and the rock atop which the Prison stood. No one came to the Prison and no one went from the Prison.

If fortune smiled on him that would change tonight.

The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon, the light dimming and the stars gradually blinking into existence one by one. As the fiery orb finally dipped completely below the horizon, the figure moved. He dropped down onto the cliff path, slipping into the shadows like a phantom. Swiftly he moved from shadow to shadow along the path to ensure that he was not seen on his approach. He did not wish to give any potential enemies time to organise against his intrusion.

Briefly he passed by a brazier and his body was illuminated by the dancing fire. He was tall and broad shouldered, his body well developed with toned muscles. His skin, however, was odd. For centuries it had been a pale white, but by now it was taking on a greenish cast and its texture was altering, becoming almost leathery. His hands ended in three talons, two fingers and a thumb, rather than fingers or fledgling claws. He wore obsidian armour of his own design, crafted in the Ancient style and fashioned by use of the traditional, elemental Serioli fire. This consisted of a breast plate, lengthy pauldrons over each shoulder and bracers up the outsides of his forearms. Over all of this he wore a dark red, woollen cloak that reached to his calves. There was also a cowl that he had pulled up over his head. It hid most of his face from view, leaving only his mouth and long hair visible.

Darting across the bridge, he didn't slow down until he was standing right before the iron door entrance to the prison. This was the point where he would see if all the precautions and preparations he had undertaken would be enough. His armour had been specially designed to be light, tough and suited to blending into the darkness.

A century had passed since the fall of the Citadel and the murder of Ba'al Zebur, and in that time his powers as a vampire had grown. But he was not so young as to be arrogant enough to assume that he could handle all the potential challenges that lay within such a notorious place, not without careful forethought and certainly not a head-on attack. His masters had feared this place in their time and he had not one tenth of the strength, physical or magical, that they had enjoyed.

Reaching into his cloak, the vampire withdrew a small object about the size of an apple and held it up before the door facing towards it. The object was a tarnished, golden ankh-like relic made of a strange metal that even he, with his expansive knowledge of metallurgy, had not been able to indentify. Obtaining it had been a challenge as it had involved deceiving his sire and stealing it from his high mountain abode. Devoted as his sire was to his duty in guarding his treasured blade, it would be unlikely he would miss the item for some considerable time.

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the sullen boom of the rolling surf far below. Suddenly, there was a deep clanking from somewhere within the structure. It sounded like the rattling of massive chains, and the grinding noise that accompanied it seemed to indicate a certain amount of rust was involved. Then, with a loud creaking of unattended iron hinges, the door began to swing open. The smell that came boiling out from inside was appalling.

Even a human's dull sense of smell would have been overwhelmed by that rotten carnal house stink, and a vampire's nose was far more powerful. It was all the vampire could do not to gag. Vampires like the smell of freshly spilt blood as it was an indication of nearby prey. But the odour that came flowing out of this unholy place was the smell of flesh left to rot, an accumulation of death and decay that seemed like it had been building up over eons.

Once the door had creaked open enough, the vampire did not waste any time. He darted through and into the shadows, his dark clothing and padded boots muffling the sound of his footsteps, making him as silent as a shade.

That proved fortuitous as almost immediately within the Prison's antechamber there was a sudden greenish glow in one spot, the telltale sign of someone using a translocation enchantment.

The being that emerged from insubstantial air was human in shape, but that seemed to be as far as it went. It looked to be floating just above the floor, defying gravity and didn't appear to have any feet at all. It was clad in strange tarnished bronze plate armour that covered its entire body. The helmet was almost cone shaped, the face hidden behind a grey visor. From between the slits a pair of eyes could be seen, eyes that glowed a pale, sickly green. Carried in its right hand was a large scythe with a curved blade which was obviously not meant for the harvesting of wheat. The vampire could now plainly see what the statues outside had been modelled after. What disturbed him far more, however, was the fact that this figure had no scent. All animals, and especially humans and vampires, had a unique distinct set of smells to them. This semi-floating figure was like cold stone, smelling of nothing. Whatever it was, it was not human, at least not entirely.

"Who enters the halls of celestial correction?" It called out in a voice that rippled as if it were spoken underwater, only just understandable. "No being, be they man or god, is allowed within these walls but those in need of spiritual remoulding. It has been this way since the first race took flight in the skies of the world. Do not defy their decrees! Step forward and be known!"

The creature looked back and forth, scanning the antechamber and not just with its eyes. The vampire could feel the creature's mind searching for traces of conscious passage. It was a simple trick of extrasensory perception that most advanced minds could employ. The vampire, however, knew of a few subtle ways to erase those traces, making him practically invisible. The creature kept looking, even going so far as to venture just outside the main door in its search, but could not find the intruder.

His ability to conceal his presence from what he assumed was a prison guard proven, the vampire circled around, waiting for the right could not give this guard the opportunity to alert any others to an intruder. Shifting through the shadows, the vampire began to slowly draw the blade he had concealed under his cloak. He could have used his talons in this situation, and for any ordinary prey he might have, but they did not have a long enough reach. He wanted this obstacle silenced in one thrust. Patiently he waited, circling slowly around until both he and his prey were at just the right angle. Then he sprang, launching himself forward with supernatural speed.

The warden, sensing the motion, turned sharply around but was too late. The serpentine blade of the vampire's sword slammed through its breastplate, directly into the heart and then erupting out the back. Blood sprayed out both the entry and exit wounds, bright red splattering on the stone floor. The warden let out a gargling noise as if trying to speak, the green fire in its eyes flickering and then going out.

The vampire silenced it then and there by opening his mouth and summoning the blood out of the wound and directly to his lips. Obediently the blood came to him, siphoned away from the wounds. Its taste was strange, almost human but not quite. Still, it was good enough to satisfy the hunger and to supply a surplus of energy, a vital necessity for this mission.

The vampire drained the body dry and it went limp in his arms. Then he dragged the body outside the doors of the Prison. Unceremoniously, he flung the warden's corpse off the edge of the rock precipice. It tumbled down the side of the cliffs to the sea below, disappearing with a splash.

It would not be long before any other guards that patrolled the corridors of the prison noticed the absence of their fellow, if they had not already. Moving swiftly, the hooded vampire began his exploration of the structure. Going in blind and not knowing the layout of the prison had put him at a serious disadvantage, but it could not be helped. There had been no way to send in a spy to scout the layout of the complex in advance, so some exploration was necessary.

However, that quickly turned out to be nearly impossible. The Eternal Prison was a place where causality could be bent and time and space were fluid, shifting around almost at random. One normal looking corridor could lead to an empty chamber at one time, and yet, if one doubled back that same corridor would lead somewhere different later. In addition, there was a strange magical effect upon the complex. The interior of the prison was far larger than the outside and the twisting corridors went off into the gloom seemingly forever.

Finally the vampire was forced to conclude that relying on his sight would not be sufficient for him to navigate his way through this non-linear maze. Instead he began to rely on his other senses, such as hearing and scent. The interior of the prison was rotten with the stink of decayed and ancient flesh, but there were stronger traces of it here and there that could lead him down the correct path. Through the shifting nature of the prison his nose led him on.

The shadows remained constant, providing him with the camouflage necessary to avoid the guards of the Prison. These strange beings patrolled the corridors irregularly, appearing in various locations to survey a seemingly random section before disappearing again in a translocation spell. They at least seemed to know the secret of navigating around the prison.

Much of the complex was cold stone, blank and unadorned by any sort of decoration. It all seemed to be made of the same grey basalt. The rooms were all the same as well; completely square, full of mostly empty cell blocks and those cells that did have something in them had little more than scraps of bone picked clean by scurrying vermin. It was almost by accident that he stumbled into the first of the torture chambers.

It was a large, oval shaped room with a burning metallic furnace right in the centre. Pipes with valves channelled the flames out of this central device into four platforms set like the corners of a square. A metal harness was suspended over each of these platforms and set into two of them were roasting carcasses, fresh kills with their blackened and crispy flesh still smouldering.

Another figure was strapped into another of the harnesses, a human that was still very much alive. Alive, but damaged beyond recognition. His body was covered in deep cuts which had turned green and diseased from having not been treated. His face was awash with blood that almost obscured his features and his eyes had been sewn shut.

"No no... no...no... no... no daddy, I didn't do that." He was muttering as the vampire approached him, his voice hoarse and tinged with inner madness. "Been a good boy... been good...no daddy it was the rats... they ate him... rats... big rats...horrible rats...the rats in the walls."

Gently the vampire laid a hand across his mouth to silence him.

"Schhhhh." He whispered and then quickly dragged the talons on his free hand across the man's throat, ending his prolonged suffering.

This chamber was the first of many that he saw on his journey through this hellish maze, each one designed to facilitate a different variety of pain. Some chambers were full of tables covered in metallic needles, rotted flesh still clinging to some of the tips. In one chamber human inmates were strapped to platforms, having their legs slowly crushed by heavy weights.

Set into the walls in various places were iron maidens, coffins just large enough for a man to stand inside, the doors to the tiny compartments lined with cruelly impaling spikes. Some of those the vampire passed were open and empty. Others were closed tightly shut and the smell of rotten flesh from inside was overpowering.

In yet another room the inmates had had their arms and legs amputated and their torsos strung up on hooks, the impalement designed to miss vital organs so that the victim remained alive swinging in mid air. The cell was full of groans and moans of pain, the only sounds these torture victims could make as their lips had been stitched closed.

A few inmates were seemingly allowed to wander free in a few of the corridors connecting the cell blocks and torture chambers, but they had to do so blind as, like nearly all the captives, they had their eyes stitched closed.

The vampire, who was used to bloodletting and a certain degree of savagery, was left somewhat disturbed by all of this. At least the Sarafan impaled a vampire through the heart to make sure it was a quick death. This place was not a realm of death, but of prolonged, cruel suffering.

Stealing into the shadows, the vampire continued on his way, leaving the torture chambers behind and emerging into a large room with a high vaulted ceiling. This chamber was far different from all the others. Covering the walls were strange devices of unknown make, surrounding several large clock faces with the hands ticking away at different speeds. Alien sounds echoed through the chamber, strange and unearthly noises that no known magic or science could produce. Each sound seemed to vibrate and resonate in both the past and the future at the same time.

In the centre of the room suspended on a raised dais was an armillary of some kind, at least on first glance. In design it was just as alien as the rest of the machinery around the walls. It also seemed to survey not a globe, but rather something far more abstract and the vampire was beginning to suspect that it might be a device made to measure and pinpoint locations within the stream of time.

All of this was fascinating in a scholarly sort of way, but the vampire immediately forgot all of it when he laid eyes on the two figures standing by the armillary atop the dais. One of them was another of the wardens, instantly recognisable by the armour that covered it. The second figure was shorter, dressed in a grey and purple robe and clutching a long golden staff in one hand. Even before the figure half turned to reveal his face beneath his hood the staff had announced his identity. The staff was the height of a man, ending in a luminous and enormous pearl-like jewel on top the size of a man's head. The depiction of a red snake was wrapped around the staff, its head reaching up to the pearl with its mouth wide open as if attempting to swallow it. That staff was instantly recognisable as there existed only one like it in the world.

The two were conversing in low tones that the vampire could not quite hear over the grinding and ticking of the machines in the chamber. Then the prison warden seemed to be satisfied with something and disappeared, flickering out and away in the luminous mist of a translocation spell.

The vampire supposed as he continued watching that he could try some degree of stealth to get around the second figure, as he knew exactly how dangerous he was. But somehow the idea of a direct confrontation seemed far more appropriate.

He stepped out from the shadows, striding across the floor of the alien chamber towards the figure quite openly. As his boots made no sound, the robed man must have sensed the approach, turning to face the intruder. The vampire knew him of course by his features, which had altered somewhat over the years, but the sigil on his forehead was exactly the same as he had seen it before.

"This place is an abyss of pain and torment, a forgotten crevice in which exists a depraved universe comprised of the very particles of perpetual agony." The vampire said, noting with some satisfaction the look of consternated surprise that flickered across the human's face. "So of course, you would be quite at home here, Bridenal."

The human's face deepened into an annoyed frown and his grip on his staff tightened.

"My name is Moebius." He corrected the vampire flatly. "It is my true name, the name given to me by God Himself."

The vampire stopped just short of the dais, looking up towards the wizard above, his face still partly concealed by his hood.

"I would have imagined that the great Time Streamer saw everything that happened before, is happening now and ever would happen later." He remarked ironically. "And yet you seem surprised to see me."

Moebius the Time Streamer, sorcerer of the Circle of Nine, straightened indignantly, looking down at the vampire with some degree of contempt.

"Only my master sees everything." The human wizard said with some reverence. "My sight is limited to the time stream in the ordinary world and here, in this place, the flow of time is bent and screwed." He gestured with his staff around at the chamber they were in, indicating the alien machinery that continued to churn out their otherworldly noises. "Causality is in constant flux. Nothing is certain."

Then he looked down his nose at the vampire.

"Few would dare enter this complex voluntarily, son of Audron." He said. The vampire was not really surprised that he had guessed who he was. A cowl would not be enough to hide the vampire's identity from a sorcerer with such perceptive abilities. "No living being, except the invited, have ever left the confines of this prison dead or alive."

"And I suppose the wardens just invited you in to survey their work?" The vampire asked back with some contempt.

"As the Time Guardian I do have certain benefits." Moebius replied with slight grin parting his lips. The vampire kept himself tense, ready to move in any direction. Moebius seemed surprised to see him here, but not overly concerned for his own safety as if he had nothing to fear.

"Haven't the Circle members better things to do?" The Vampire asked, scowling back.

"The Circle's business is its own." The Time Streamer said and then looked reverently up towards the ceiling with a benign expression on his face. "I serve my master above and beyond my role and guardianship of the Time Pillar. I am merely waiting for more important events to unfold, so I have leisure to devote myself to unravelling the enigma of this penitentiary." He tapped his staff against the strange armillary behind him.

Somewhat amused, the vampire folded his arms behind himself in the small of his back.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share your conclusions?"

Moebius' expression went flat for a moment and then he seemed to relent, letting a smile cross his face again as his shoulders relaxed. He half turned to look at the alien device by which he stood.

"This prison is a construct of neither your debased ancestors nor the banished Unspoken ones." He said with some authority on the subject in his voice. "The very stones are imbued with time magic that surpasses even my own." This was said with no small amount of reluctance. With a nod he looked back at the vampire. "No one of the three races built this place."

The vampire intruder chuckled lightly.

"Perhaps the Gods placed it here to punish those who displease them?" He asked with a deliberately insulting tone. Moebius grunted sourly, his face creasing into a sneer of contempt.

"There is only one true God, blood sucker, and I would recognise my master's work if I saw it." He said firmly, turning back to face the intruder. "No, this place was constructed by a powerful race, a race with power and understanding surpassing all before them... a fourth race that predates even the Ancients and was greater in mystical might then they."

The vampire tilted his head to one side.

"My sire would have told me if such a species ever existed." He concluded after a moment of silence. Moebius shot him a sidelong look and sneered.

"Provided he knows or even cares." The Time Streamer said and his tone was derisive, even scornful. "Your sire sits alone atop his mountain perch and waits for his hero to come and save him. I doubt there is thought in his head for anything else." The grin on Moebius' face was mocking. "Only when that hero finds him, it will not be what he imagines. That will cause him much pain and I relish that."

The vampire paused long enough for the silence between them to drag on.

"Janos did nothing to you to warrant such hate." He remarked eventually in a low tone.

"It was what he was going to do!" The Time Streamer snapped angrily at such a statement and gestured with his deadly staff down at the intruder. "Had I not taken pre-emptive action with Mortanius I would have been _turned_ when I came of age, become one of your blasphemous kind!"

The vampire was suitably unimpressed by the defence.

"So you plunged the ancient world into utter chaos..." He said accusingly. "Killed thousands of beings both human and vampire... all because you were afraid." He paused then and studied the Time Streamer's face closely. "And it means absolutely nothing to you, does it? You'd do it again if you thought it would help you destroy what remains of the bloodline." He concluded flatly.

"The blood of those black winged abominations still flows in your veins and in the veins of every other so called 'hybrid' vampire, those who were once human but accepted the darkness." Moebius confirmed and his tone was like ice, cold and emotionless as if stating a job description rather than his own feelings. "I will not rest until it has been all been spilled. Every last drop."

"You hate us so much?" The vampire asked.

"What I feel for anything to do with your dark kind is revulsion so acute I often find myself on the point of retching." The Time Streamer leaned back against the armillary, his arms crossed over his chest and his staff still clutched in his right hand. "But all that is totally irrelevant. It's not my place to say whether or not a race dies." He looked up towards the ceiling again. "This command comes from a far higher authority. God Himself has handed down the death sentence."

The vampire snorted derisively and turned his head away, uncrossing his own arms and holding them by his sides with his palm resting on the pommel of his blade that stuck out from beneath his cloak.

"I doubt the creator of the universe is so sadistic." He said.

Moebius seemed to take this as a personal insult. He reared up, nostrils flaring and his eyes wide with indignation.

"You and all your kind are an affront to the one God." He said and his words dripped venom. "The souls locked in flesh deny the cycle of spiritual restoration that guides the cosmos."

The vampire paused again, digesting the words as they were more than familiar to him. He had heard them many times before, sometimes even from his own sire.

"The Wheel must turn…" He said, watching the Time Streamer's face carefully. Moebius grinned from ear to ear.

"Precisely!" He said with enthusiasm and there was in his eyes the unmistakable fire of a zealot, the exact same fire that the vampire had seen before in the eyes of Ancients who had thrust their own blades in through their chests in an act of self annihilation. He began to chuckle, his shoulders shaking. Moebius' smile instantly faded.

"What's so funny?" He asked flatly.

"The irony!" The vampire replied, still chuckling. "It's utterly delicious! That you would be such a devout follower of that particular macabre faith! The faith of the very Ancients you so vehemently decry!"

Moebius' expression went completely flat. He came right to the edge of the dais and looked down his nose at the vampire.

"They had their chance to show their obedience and subservience to the Wheel." He said coldly. "Yet they wasted it by continuing their grotesque existence."

The vampire went silent for a moment and his very body language seemed to radiate dislike.

"And what precisely should they have done?" He asked eventually. The Time Streamer managed a cruel sneer.

"They should have all killed themselves immediately upon discovering they had been cursed, all of them, down to the last child." He said with an appalling amount of relish in his voice.

"Most of them did."

"But not all. A few dared to survive. And Janos Audron was the worst of them all, passing on the curse to humans just to preserve their decrepit bloodline."

Another long silence endured, both participants in the conversation realising that they had reached the end of the usefulness of this verbal exchange. They were at the point now where conflict was a real possibility.

"You know I could kill you here and now." The vampire said quietly, almost as if it were only a passing casual remark. Moebius' sneer widened and he leaned on his staff almost like a walking stick.

"No, you can't." He disagreed and tapped the luminous orb on the end of his staff with a finger. "Not while I have this."

The vampire tensed. He knew that with a single unspoken command from its master, that orb could render him paralysed.

"I'd find some way around that." He said. Moebius glared down at him, then straightened and his expression softened into a confident yet small smile.

"It's not time for either of us to die." He said in a purring voice. "So why press the issue?" He began to step back from the edge of the dais and as he did, his body was surrounded by a faint white glow. "I can be patient. You will meet your end at the appointed time and place. Everything in its proper sequence." His physical appearance began to flicker, moving in and out of view as the translocation spell took effect. "Go, do whatever you came here to do and be gone." With that he vanished completely, fading away to some other location. The vampire stared after him for a moment before snorting contemptuously.

"One day Moebius, you will meet your God in person." He said as if the other could still hear him and turned towards another doorway leading further into the prison. "I think you might be disappointed."

The inner chambers of the Eternal Prison seemed to be reserved for special captives, those of importance who were given a unique cell to be imprisoned inside and tortured in private. Many of these were sealed off completely from the rest of the prison, accessible only if the warping effect of causality the prison displayed was just right. Within these chambers were horrors specific to the psyche of the prisoner, adapting to display the trapped, doomed soul's worst nightmares. The vampire could sense the pain and horror radiating from these chambers as he passed them, even if he could not see inside.

He was almost at his destination. The ankh led him on, allowing him to sense his way through the strange non-linear architecture now that he was getting close. The artefact itself had been made by the first Time guardian, the original protector of the Pillar of Time. It gave the owner the authority to enter this prison as well as locate specific people within its walls despite the maze of time shifting passages.

The chamber he came into was a rectangular box with an extremely high ceiling. The walls were all lined with rusty spikes of various sizes lancing out towards the centre of the room. The chamber's floor consisted of a single stone walkway to a platform directly in the centre. The rest of the chamber seemed flooded with a strange black liquid, almost like oil but smelling quite different. In the middle of the chamber on the central platform was a large set of metallic gears connected to a complex series of metal cables that ran to the wall.

Walking across the stone path, the vampire observed those cables lancing out of holes in the walls, crisscrossing back and forth through other holes until finally coming to the ceiling. Suspended there by the cables was a crucifix made out of metal. Strapped across the cross section was a figure whose indentifying characteristics were lost in the darkness.

Even without seeing the person held there, the vampire knew that he had found what he had been searching for.

The contraption restraining the prisoner was not hard to figure out. The gears controlling the cables each had a valve handle attached to them and turning one would cause the suspended crucifix to swing in a certain direction. The difficult part was coordination, turning the handles each at a certain time to slowly bring the crucifix down while at the same time preventing it from slamming into the walls and impaling the occupant on the spikes.

"Words, words words... words on tongue of flame, echoing across the sky from the Elder to the Keeper and back again." The words echoed off the walls of the chamber and the voice was distinctly feminine. The vampire looked up, watching the progress of the crucifix as it began to swing back and forth, slowly descending towards the floor.

When it was halfway down, however, two spikes lanced out from the wall like thrown javelins with the rasp of metal on metal. Quickly the vampire reversed the handle he was turning and the crucifix changed directions just in time to avoid having its occupant pierced.

More and more spikes began protruding from the wall as he continued trying to lower the cross, a booby trap seemingly triggered when it was brought down to a certain height. It took a great deal of hand-eye coordination and timing to avoid the traps as they were triggered one by one.

"Rising... rising from down below...coming to eat and burn." The female voice continued, sounding closer now and the tone was tinged with the madness of one whose mind has all but slipped away. "The masters! The masters come back!"

The vampire had almost managed to get the cross down to the floor when suddenly the black liquid around the chamber began to boil as if suddenly heated from below, writhing, tossing and spitting. The vampire paused and looked around sharply, the ambient light in the chamber beginning to fade as well as if the darkness were reclaiming its territory.

"Alone, left alone, no message...no prophecy to guide... alone in the darkness, waiting for the fire." The spread female figure on the crucifix muttered almost unintelligibly, her voice full of fear. "He comes... bringer of death..."

With a surge the black liquid gathered itself up and then began to form into a shape, an elongated form like a serpent. Emitting a deep, gurgling noise, the thing encircled the platform like a constricting python. A pair of large eyes glared at them, glowing blood red from within the jelly-like head. It changed even more as it circled, growing a frill of horns across its head. A pair of curving wings spread out from its back like those of a colossal alien bat.

"Thanatos!" The crucified prisoner gasped and writhed on the cross, panting in the sudden grip of terrified anxiety. "Thanatos! Thanatos!"

The imitation winged beast turned to look straight at her and roared, opening a gapping maw wide to display a mouth full of metallic spikes in the place of teeth.

The vampire, however, had decided that this had gone on long enough. Raising his hand he channelled a cleansing spell into his palm. Clenching a fist he released the magic, dispelling the illusionary sorcery that held the creature together. The shockwave of magic passed through the beast and it promptly fell apart, the liquid that made it up splashing back down to the chamber floor. The beast had been simply an illusion projected by the cell to torment the occupant, perhaps a vision of some irrational fear.

"Enough of this nightmare." He said and lowered the cross all the way back down to the ground, finally turning to look fully at the occupant. As he had expected going in, the woman tied to it was not human. She had a very different muscular system and a tripod-like arrangement of toes on her tridactyl feet. A crest shaped like large ears swept back over her hairline and bony protrusions sprang from the backs of her elbows and shoulder blades. She was in terrible shape, having old and new deep cuts covering her flesh along with thick black bruises. Lumps covered her in various places that suggested her bones had been broken and healed wrong. Her hair was thin as large patches of it had been torn out. She was strapped to the crucifix by rusty iron chains that were causing her wounds to become savagely infected.

The worst part was her eyes: sore, black and bloodied and stitched closed with rotten string.

"No...no more voices!" She began in pain as the vampire approached her. "I can't take the pounding inside my head!"

"I am no illusion." The Vampire said.

"Lies lies! I can trust nothing of what hear!" She gasped, shuddering in her torment. The vampire snorted and marched over. In both hands he grasped the chains binding her to the cross and using his enhanced strength, he tore the links open. Loop by constricting loop fell away and with a sudden startled gasp, the woman fell forward off the cross and onto the floor. She stayed lying there, straining for breath.

The Vampire knelt beside her.

"Are you Damkina, the seer of the Unspoken race?" He asked softly. The woman struggled to summon the strength to push herself up to her knees. She was horribly gaunt and clearly had not been fed for some considerable time.

"Y...you are not a phantom of my mind?" She asked, turning to face him. With her eyes sewn shut she could not see where he was but could guess by the sound of his voice. Tentatively she reached out and touched his face with a shaking hand, tracing the outline of it with the tips of her fingers. "But you are not a warden... then...you came from outside...you..."

"Are you Damkina?" He asked her again, holding her hand with his. She twitched, feeling the strong talons around her fingers. No doubt from the shape of his hand she could tell what he was.

"Yes! Yes, yes I am!" She breathed in a voice almost too low to hear. The vampire nodded.

"Hold still." He told her. He reached out and held the back of her head in one hand and then using a talon on the other, he delicately and very gently began to pry the string holding her eyes closed away. The woman gasped and froze rigid, not moving a muscle as the vampire continued his work. It took only a moment and soon the string was removed.

The woman paused, and then for perhaps the first time in years, she opened her eyes. Her eyes were bloodshot and sore looking, with unhealthy puss rimming their edges, but they were able to see again. Shuddering, the woman looked down at her hands and tears came unbidden to her, thick tears that washed away the yellow puss.

"Please, I beg of you... take me away from this place!" She said looking up at him. Her eyesight must have still been poor as, after having been deprived of it for so long, she was terribly unfocused. "Take me outside these walls! I have barely held on to whatever shred of sanity I have left but it's slipping away in here! Please!"

The vampire looked down at her for a long moment, then he reached and, taking her by the arm, he helped her back up to her feet.

"Janos did wrong by putting you here." He remarked slowly and there was actually a kernel of sympathy in his voice. "What I need you for can wait. Come." She could barely support her own weight. Her muscles had weakened considerably and the infected wounds on her body were leaking puss. For the sake of expediency he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She could cling to him and he could support her with one arm.

"W...who are you?" She asked and as she hung on to him, she inadvertently pulled his hood back to reveal his head. Over the centuries the evolution of his dark gift had given him alterations unique from the Ancients. His ears were larger and spike-like protrusions were beginning to sprout from either side of his jaw line.

"I am Vorador." He told her. "The first one."


	2. 1 The Forum

Thousands of years later...

.

The moon was finally showing through the clouds. The smokestacks, constructed and maintained by the Turelim, were now silent and impotent towers. The pollution and smog they had pumped daily into the skies of Nosgoth for over a thousand years was still thick in the air, little particles of ash and dust that settled over everything equally.

The corruption throughout the land caused by the collapse of the Pillars was bad enough, but the short-sightedness of the Empire had nearly blanketed all of Nosgoth in smoke. This had caused a massive recession of the natural ecosystem. There were few animals left alive in this wasteland, scavenging for whatever nourishment they could find. The only creatures to do well in this land were the carrion birds, swooping down to pick over the remains of the carcasses that dropped frequently.

A swarm of them had spotted something down on the ground and one swooped down to circle, examining the corpse lying perfectly still. Then they dove down and tore into it in an orgy of snapping beaks and discarded feathers.

One bird, however, did not dive down with the rest of them and kept on flying, leaving the feast behind and carrying on without being swayed by the prospect of food.

-0-

**_"Nosgoth was a forsaken land, an abandoned shell that the grace of fortune had left behind, a world with all the meaning of a discarded set of old clothes."_**

-0-

The black bird carried on flying forward, rising and falling on the air currents. While the bird appeared to be little more than a raven or large crow, it covered far more ground then should have been possible for a creature of its size. It carried on flying for hours at a time, never tiring once as it soared over the length of the rotted remains of Kain's empire.

-0-

**_"The air was stale, the sky a mass of black and the very earth upon which we all walk drained of all but the tiniest flickers of life. It was a miracle anything living survived on the face of this cadaverous planet at all."_**

-0-

The bird looked down to see, as it flew overhead, a small scavenging pack of Melchahim. The rotted corpse-like Vampires were all but extinct now, having been sought out for immediate and total destruction by the humans of the Citadel. They were the one clan they feared above all others for the Melchahim took not only their blood, but their skins as well. Methodically the hunters had driven them out of the ancient Necropolis and through the wastes, killing and burning every member of that clan they could find almost to the exclusion of all the others.

This band of ravenous zombies was rummaging around in a small ruin, probably still looking for graces to raid in order to either replenish their numbers or find fresh skins to conceal their rotting flesh.

Then, suddenly and without warning, the hunters burst forth from their hiding places. Obviously the 'graves' had been bait to lure the Melchahim and the humans gave them no chance to defend themselves or even escape. Two of them holding flame throwers came in from the sides and ignited the air before them in gusts of fire, engulfing the Vampires. The Melchahim screamed but very quickly they were reduced to piles of smouldering dust.

It was entirely possible that the bird had just witnessed the deaths of the very last of the Melchahim and the annihilation of the clan itself but, uninterested, it flew on.

-0-

**_"This was the world Kain and his blue compatriot, Raziel, fought through the streams of time itself to save? What absurd hope did they hold in their hearts for this lacerated corpse of a land?" _**

-0-

The bird continued on its way, flying over the stinking dark marsh that was all that remained of the Termogent Forest. The bog that remained was like an open, corrupted wound, sick with infection and leaking pus. Despite this it was still a refuge for life, various animals sticking close to the water supply and the easy prey this provided. The swamp was also home to a small splinter clan of Rahabim, sustaining themselves by surviving as ambush predators.

Just visible through the blackened trees were the crumbled ruins of a large estate. A manor house had once stood here in eons past, but its remains had been all but retaken by the swamp. Over this the bird circled once and then swooped on.

-0-

**_"And what hope was I entitled to? What small hope had brought me here? A miniscule flicker of sanguineness, given to me by a witch who had already proven she was a skilled and ruthless manipulator? Clearly I must be mad."_**

-0-

The  
bird's journey continued undaunted until, as the full moon rose overhead, it sighted a pale green glow on the eastern horizon. Steadfastly it continued on, putting on a quickening of its pace. Eventually the outline of the city could be seen, large spires and domes with emerald spotlights lancing from ground to sky.

-0-

**_"Once a mighty theocratic authority in Nosgoth, the sprawling city of Avernus had stood proudly with its mighty cathedral rising high towards the heavens. Priests and clerics from across the land would come here to heed the words of the Archdeacon. But that age had vanished eons ago, and Avernus had been laid to waste by the legions spawned by Kain's 'sons' and its cathedral left a battered ruin."_**

-0-

Like most human cities, Avernus had been all but destroyed during the conquest and subjugation of the human realms. Its ruins had remained unoccupied for centuries, a derelict construction that most had forgotten about. But not by the Hylden, for there had been a settlement of their kind here long before the humans had ever set the first stone of their cathedral.

-0-

**_"Now Avernus was revived before my eyes, reconstructed as the capital for the new Hylden nation."_**

-0-

The Hylden constructed buildings for one specific purpose and designed them to fulfil that role completely. As such, their architecture had a distinctly unappealing look to it. It was a fusion of metal and stonework, along with the application of their strange, otherworldly science which seemed almost like magic to the unenlightened.

The mammoth spire of Ishtar's weapon, the Ziggurat, remained broken and collapsed in the centre of the city. The rubble had been removed and the buildings affected by the falling debris repaired, but the Ziggurat itself was still a broken off stump. No move, it seemed, had been made to restore it.

-0-

**_"Here, in a temporary alliance with the cobalt skeleton Raziel, I had come to rescue my sire – Janos Audron – from torture at the hands of the high priest, Ishtar. We succeeded in that quest, but the privations my sire had suffered during his time spent in the demon dimension and torture inflicted by Ishtar had left his mind broken. Janos spent his days now lying in bed, swimming through a sea of nightmares in a prison of his own mind."_**

-0-

The bird circled once before coming down on the rooftop of a square building that seemed to be a storage compartment for Glyph batteries. Once it touched down, its shape began to blur and alter. Ripples of energy crackled over its body as it expanded up and out, taking on a different shape entirely. It became humanoid with arms and legs, broad shoulders and emerald green skin. A pair of large ears sprouted from the head and a moment later, clothes formed around the figure, cladding him in a white doublet, blue trousers and black leather boots with wide soles to permit feet that ended in talons and a red drape-like coverall suspended by two large obsidian shoulder pads.

Vorador, the first human Vampire, knelt quickly to conceal himself in the shadows to observe the city around him from his normal perspective. The eyes of a bird were excellent and had a wonderful zooming in quality, but it was difficult to make them take in an entire panorama.

The Hylden Avenus was a marvel, he was forced to admit. They had reconstructed the entire city from a discarded ruin to a technological powerhouse in the space of less than a year. Their skill with metallurgy and energy manipulation was to be admired, even if reluctantly.

It had been a few weeks since the battle with Ishtar and the fall of Ziggurat. Vorador had had no way of keeping an eye on the Hylden himself, instead relying on intelligence provided by his allies which he saw was totally inadequate now that he was here to see for himself. The city itself did not have a very high population by his estimate, perhaps only about thirty thousand Hylden could be living here.

Vorador began to wonder what he was even doing here and he felt foolish for finding himself doubting his own resolve. It was a flimsy hope that had driven him to come to this city of the enemy of his very species. But it was a hope that he found he would rather die again then live without, the promise of the restoration of all he had held dear. A chance to wrest back from cruel fate all things precious that had been taken from him.

Even as he repeated the thought in his mind it struck him as how absurd it really was, like the motivation of some sort of fictitious character in a storybook. Perhaps even now, he pondered whimsically, someone somewhere was reading about all this and actually enjoying learning of his foolishness.

A large number of Hylden were gathering a short distance away in some sort of central square, and there was an excited babble of low and high pitched voices. Vorador could not see what exactly was going on from his present position, so he quietly leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The Hylden had not thought yet to put up Ward gates inside their own city, just around it to protect against direct Vampire incursion. Yet Vorador did imagine they would have some means of detecting Vampires if they got too close. Sticking to the rooftops seemed the safest and most practical option.

Reaching a concealed perch over the square, he paused to watch what was transpiring below. The Hylden crowd was gathering around a raised dais set to one side and watching it avidly. Standing on that dais was three other Hylden. One of them looked like the normal Hylden appearance: skin bleached almost snow white and face marked by hideous stretch marks.

The other two were very different. Their skin was much darker, almost a pale golden brown and their faces were totally unmarked by blemishes. In fact, their faces appeared almost human, their eyes normal with no hint of a green glow. From behind the bony frills and crests that all Hylden had they even had hair. These two were like the Seer now, unblemished from their time spent in the demon realm.

Vorador crouched low and watched with wide, interested eyes. The two unblemished Hylden were each holding what looked like a branding iron ending in a Glyph, although it glowed blue rather than green.

"I am ready..." The normal Hylden in the centre said in the usual raspy voice, closing his glowing green eyes and spreading his arms out wide. Then the two to either side of him looked at each other, nodded in unison and held up their branding irons. The one on the left pressed his brand to the forehead on the middle one while the one on the right firmly held her branding iron to his heart.

The Hylden standing in the centre was suddenly surrounded by a pale blue illumination, as if he were a living aurora. The entire body was shielded from view and Vorador had to turn his head at the brightness of the sudden flare. Then the light faded as quickly as it came.

When Vorador looked back, he saw that the normal-looking Hylden in the centre of the dais had been transformed. His skin was now almost golden and the green glow in his eyes had faded away. All the distortions and stretch marks on his skin and especially around his face had dissolved completely, and even his hair had re-grown out behind his crest. He stood there, looking down in wonder at his restored hands while particles of blue and white light faded around him. The crowd of Hylden around them let out a mix of gasps, cries of hoarse surprise and even some wept with apparent joy.

With a start of surprise Vorador realised what he was seeing. The Hylden had discovered some method of restoring themselves to their former appearance, before they had been exposed to the warping reality of the demon realm. He was seeing them now was they had been eons ago: a fair people, strangely alien but beautiful all the same.

Grimly he began to understand their resentment towards his kind, who had robbed them of their dignity in such a way.

"Clearly you picked up the arts of stealth from a competent teacher." A soft, quiet voice said from behind him. Un-alarmed, for he had sensed her behind him for a while, Vorador turned his head to look back at her.

"Even I could not sense your approach into the city." The female Vampire leaning against the wall was one of the blue skinned and winged Ancients, like Janos. She was almost as tall as himself but with slender shoulders. Her raven black hair was tied back into a ponytail behind her head. She wore a red toga embroidered with golden rune-like markings around the edges and silver bracers across her forearms and shins. A pair of double bladed short swords was strapped at her sides within reach of both hands. Vorador knew who she was quite well.

-0-

**_"Ajatar-Cadre, Grandmaster of the Serioli Order of Warrior Blacksmiths. She had been the one to tutor me in the arts of swordsmanship and the ancient tradition of elemental forging. I had thought her dead for eons, but she and many of the original Serioli survived, brought forward across time by Kain's meddling in the fabric of causality. At least I could not fault Kain for that decision."_**

-0-

He had heard the story of their trip across time from Ajatar herself some time ago and if he had not already been aware of such a feat being possible, from Raziel and Kain's example, he would have thought her mad. As it was, his surprise at their return had faded when he learned how few of them there were now. Only fifty-five of the once mighty Serioli forging order had managed to escape the past and arrive in this ghastly future.

"She asked you to come as well?" Vorador asked raising an eyebrow slightly.

Ajatar-Cadre snorted and ruffled her wings, a habit Vorador knew to be a sign of frustrated annoyance.

"I thought it prudent to at least see what she intends. To be forewarned, if for no other reason." She said with reserve. Glancing down the Grandmaster of the Serioli observed the spectacle in the square as another Hylden was brought up to the dais. Whatever this process entailed it seemed that only one of them could be restored at a time. "What game does she play now?"

Vorador leaned back up and flicked one ear.

"I cannot say, only that she wants me in the Forum when the new House leaders are elevated to their positions." He turned and gestured to one of the larger buildings in the city that rose up into view above the others. It was a large dome with a seamless glass roof, a circle of green spotlights ringing its outer edge.

Ajatar managed an ironic smile.

"I doubt they would let us attend, even if we promised to be mere observers." She said sardonically, folding her arms across her chest. Vorador chuckled briefly deep in his throat and stood up, leaning back so he was out of the light.

"Then we watch without them noticing." He said.

"A challenge indeed... I have always enjoyed those." Ajatar replied, looking off at the dome with her head tilted to one side, an expression of intense contemplation on her face. Vorador smiled, displaying his fangs.

"Yes, I remember my time as your apprentice. You set me many." He reminded her. Ajatar smiled herself and closed her eyes.

"You were an indifferent student to anything that did not involve physical labour." She said with mock condescension. "I wanted to provoke your mind into intellectual growth. It took you some time but you learned the arts better than any apprentice before you, or since." There was an element of pride in her voice.

"When I was young, lecture and debate about philosophy and elemental study were tediously boring." Vorador confessed. "All I wanted was to practise with the swords and use the fires in the forge without having to sit through repeated mystical instructions in order to do so."

Ajatar opened one eye and looked at him.

"Ah, there is the fiery young soul I once knew as my student." She said in deep approval. "He is still in there after all, buried under all that worldly cynicism."

Vorador grunted, for the moment feeling all the weight of the years on his shoulders again. He was ridiculously ancient now and since the Serioli had skipped over time to reach this point, that made him the oldest living thing in the world with the exception of Janos himself. Over those centuries he had slide into a pessimistic decadence that had only been briefly alleviated during the Sarafan occupation, where he had been forced into an unwanted role as resistance leader. That had been lost when Umah had died and Kain had begun his own conquest, constructing his empire and dismissing the Cabal to exile on the southern island chain.

"Let us see if he endures." He remarked and turned to go, leaving the Hylden to their restorative treatment.

The Forum itself was a large building and most of the entrances were either guarded, or protected by Wards. While it would have been more practical to find the switches or power source and disable them, if they were to remain unnoticed in such a heavily occupied Hylden construction then they should leave no trace of their passage.

There were balconies on each point of the compass on the dome, each with a door leading into the structure. Each door was locked and protected by a glistening emerald Ward, except for one. The Ward on the eastern door was in a state of disrepair and was flickering on and off at three second intervals. There was no way to turn the Ward off completely but each time it faded, Vorador was able to manipulate the lock on the door with telekinesis until it clicked open. Then he kicked the door open and they were able to slip through when the Ward failed once more.

The inside of the Forum was a curving maze of thin corridors circling around a large central chamber, all divided into three sections to correspond to the three Hylden houses, each with their own facilities to cater to the peculiarities of their politics.

The main chamber itself was an amphitheatre with rows of seats rising up towards the outer walls, all facing inwards towards a central speaking platform. On the opposite side there was a single raised seat like a throne, framed by arching displays which were the first types of decorative architecture Vorador had ever seen a Hylden make. High above the glass ceiling was curved, illuminated faintly by the weak moonlight.

Vorador and Ajatar did not simply enter the chamber but rather found a hatch used for structural maintenance and climbed inside, moving up to look out at the Forum interior through a grate. Through the gaps in the metal covering they could see that the seats were all occupied with Hylden, each one of them restored to their former fair forms. Apparently the upper classes had been given the restorative treatment first and only now was it being distributed to the commoner ranks. Absently, Vorador noticed that hair colour seemed to correspond with similar crest shapes on their skulls. Perhaps this denoted familial connections?

The Hylden were divided into three sections and each of them wore different grab. Vorador recognised the robes of the House of Faith to the far right.

In the middle sat Hylden in tight fitting outfits made out of a material that he could not immediately indentify. Vorador could remember that those Hylden on the ship that had come to his island exile had worn such grab. This meant that they were members of the House of Knowledge.

To the far left the Hylden there were all wearing armour that varied massively warrior to warrior with no uniformity amongst them at all. Obviously they were members of the House of War.

"Then we are all agreed?" A single Hylden asked. He was standing near the centre of the chamber, along with three others as he faced the present council. He was quite tall with a curving crest lined with spikes. His hair out behind this was white and long enough that it had to be tied back into several ponytails, although he did not look old at all. Most of his body was hidden from view by a steel blue cloak suspended by a golden collar around his neck.

He was looking around at the assembled Hylden while he looked for the answer to his question.

"The vote has been cast." Another in the seats replied. "The decision is unanimous and we are all in agreement. Lord Enki, if you please..."

The white haired Hylden nodded in acceptance and turned to face the three Hylden that stood with him. Focused on them, Vorador saw that the three standing there were female.

"Kishar." Lord Enki began, gesturing to the woman on the left. She was tall and slender, with long brown hair behind a triangular crest. Her features were angularly aristocratic and her expression completely neutral. She wore grey armour across her forearms and hands that gave her the appearance of having claws.

"Enlil." Enki carried on as he turned to another of the three. This one was shorter and seemed, at least at first glance, to be a lot younger as well. She was the most human looking of the lot, with her **crest** imitating curving goat-like horns that swept back over the top of her skull. Her hair was a fiery orange red and cut quite short. Her clothing was a form fitting blue outfit that was subtly decorative but allowed for total freedom of movement. The young Hylden was standing there with a look of intense anticipation.

"Tiamatu." Lord Enki looked at the last of them. She was the strangest of them all, with skin that was far darker than any other Hylden in the chamber, almost mud brown. The crest on her was abnormally large, framing her entire face and shielding the curve of her skull completely. The hair behind this was raven black and medium length down to the shoulders. She was wearing a tight fitting outfit and seemed to fit in the grab of the House of Knowledge.

"It is the will of the Hylden Senate, the will of the mighty Keeper who watches us from the sky..." Enki began, clearly reciting words of tradition for the elevation. "...that although the three of you share the same birth mother, you shall be elevated to leadership of the Houses of Faith, War and Knowledge."

As he recited the names of each House, he presented them with an emblem. The emblem of Faith went to Kishar, War to Enlil and Knowledge to Tiamatu. Once this was done he turned to face the throne.

"Princess Damkina, granddaughter of holy Ashar, will you bless this choosing?" He asked. Glancing up at the seat, Vorador saw who sat there and his expression turned grim. It was the Seer herself, in her now official role as the new head of state. It had not taken Vorador long to work out that Raziel had been manipulated by her into murdering the former heads of the Houses; Shamash, Marduk and Ishtar so that she could take the throne for herself.

Her normal garb had been exchanged for a sky blue outfit that was just as revealing. The Seer certainly did not hesitate to flaunt her attributes. On her brow was a golden crown-like tiara with an emerald-like jewel directly in its centre. The addition was absurd.

"I will; it is my desire that the Houses be strong once more." She declared with an elevated tone and Vorador could tell that she had practised to acquire that exact form.

"Thank you, my Lady." Kishar said with a short bow.

"You honour us, Princess." Tiamatu put in but all she did was nod her head.

"Fortunate we are, to have a member of the royal bloodline of Ashar bless our elevation." Enlil declared and she did not bow at all but simply held up her emblem to admire it. Despite being the youngest she seemed to be the most confident. "For surely now with such consecration we must gather our strength and finish what our predecessors started: the annihilation of our blood enemies – the Vampires." There were murmurs and a few nods of agreement from the assembled Senate in their seats.

Beside Vorador in their concealed spot, Ajatar-Cadre frowned and her wings shivered in irritation, the black feathers rustling.

"Hold, Enlil." The Seer said, raising one hand. "There is much I would say on this matter." Enlil looked up at her in sceptical surprise. The murmur of conversation amongst the Senate quickly died down and all present looked at her.

"I will never argue that any one of us be required to forgive the Vampires for their atrocious behaviour." She began now that she had all of their attention. "They butchered many of our loved ones and called it 'release'... sending their souls to turn their cosmic wheel." She gestured around at all of them, indicating that they all had familiarity with the loss and separation from slain loved ones, fallen during that long ago war. There were many long expressions amongst the Senate. "That is a terrible crime as we all know what really happens to souls upon their release from the flesh."

A few grumbles began to pass through the Senate at that.

"But most of the beings who wronged us have been dead for thousands of years and the Pillars themselves have crumbled into dust." The Seer went on, speaking earnestly to all of them. "What strategic need is there for the extermination of their feral decedents?" At this, the Senate seemed strangely divided. Some Hylden looked stunned and offended by her question while others frowned in thought. Others were simply looking around to see what their neighbours thought.

"With respect, Princess, if we show weakness to our cause the Vampires will descend upon us like a rabid pack of wolves." Enlil said with an angry frown, her young face ceasing with annoyance. The Seer did not rise to the insolence.

"Dear Enlil, have you not seen the Vampires of this era?" She asked and then gestured to one side, to a Hylden who had been standing by a set of controls. A few buttons were pressed and from a hidden spot somewhere in the walls, a fully three dimensional image was projected.

The image was of a Dumahim Vampire, displayed in an enlarged form with great attention to detail. The Senate all looked at the image, seeing the predatory claws and gaping mouth with its secondary projecting feeding tube.

"Look at this hideous creature. This is how far they have sunk." The Seer said, calling their attention to the monstrousness of the creature, the lack of any sentience in its eyes. "They are in no fit state to pose even a moderate threat to our combined might."

The display went on to display the various deformed Vampires of the clans: the Rahabim, the Zephonim, the Melchahim and then the Turelim.

"Most of the Vampires in this time are feral monsters that act on instinct, knowing nothing of the strategies of war." The Seer said but Vorador had noticed that she had not brought up either the Serioli or the Cabal in her display.

"So first and foremost, I would argue that wiping out these beasts would be a complete waste of both our time and resources." She said and some sceptics in the audience seemed to have been swayed by the thoughtful expressions on more than a few faces.

"Revenge, the need for vindication, is all that kept our people going in the 'other place'." Enlil said with a savage undertone, casting her gaze away from the Seer and around at those in the seats as if daring them to disagree with her and remind them of their driving need for a reprisal. Many did not meet her eye. Grunting in annoyance she turned back to glare up at the enthroned Seer. "I would not expect you to understand that, Princess. You did not share that banishment with us."

The Seer's expression went instantly flat and she rose from her throne with a fluid dignity and grace but clear anger burning in her eyes.

"When you have spent a thousand years inside the Eternal Prison, then you can tell me I have not suffered as much as any of you!" She said and the steel in her voice hushed the entire chamber into an uncomfortable silence. It endured for a few stretched out moments and the Seer looked around at all those present.

"It was not the hatred that kept you going, but your own wit and adaptability." She urged them. "The Vampires expected you all to wither and fade to nothing in the demon lands, but instead you thrived. You tamed the native creatures and harnessed their strength. Despite the warping effect the realm had on your bodies and minds you kept your sagacity and planned your return. And now here you all stand and our people finally begin to heal the wounds of that long ago war." She gestured and the image of the Vampires disappeared from mid air.

"Why can we not follow that path, the path of healing and building, rather than the reactionary need for vengeance?" She concluded with that question and then sat back on her throne as a low murmur of conversation began again.

"I concur." Tiamatu said. The new leader of the House of Knowledge had been silently observing the exchange until now. "There is more than sufficient need for us to concentrate our attentions elsewhere." She gestured up towards the full moon high overhead, visible through the glass ceiling but only just as there was a black smoke cloud of smog passing over it. "Such as doing what we can to restore the malnourished land."

Enlil, her eyes wide with consternation, looked back and forth between the Seer and her peer.

"What is this?!" She demanded angrily. "Have you all forgotten the pain and sorrow, the sacrifices both living and dead have made? You would let the Vampires be exonerated of their crimes? This is nothing short of treason to our struggle!"

Kishar, who had also remained silent until now, nodded her agreement.

"As the appointed leader of the House of Faith, I feel I must join my objection with Enlil's on this matter." She said and her voice showed she was far more controlled then Enlil. "The Vampire's war of religious aggression against us was a theological matter and on those grounds, they cannot be forgiven."

The Senate broke out into more discussion and there were a few angry exchanges as they began to exchange differing points of view. This was an interesting development as it showed the watching Vorador that perhaps the process that had restored their bodies had cleared their minds of madness too. Without the cloud of rabid hate inspired by their warping, the Hylden were actually capable of rational discussion. Vorador did not know how the Seer had managed to affect this restoration but he felt sure she was behind it somehow.

"It would seem the Senate is deadlocked in this discussion." Lord Enki remarked overloud to forestall the rising tide of angry voices, gesturing with one hand to each group to gain their attention. "Perhaps we should take a recess for refreshment and meditation before returning to the debate?"

"An excellent suggestion, Lord Enki." The Seer agreed. A few of the Senate members began to rise from their seats. "However, before we quit the chamber, I would have one more party speak on this matter. Those who would be intimately involved, one way or the other." She added and everyone froze to look at her again.

The Seer smiled and then turned her head so that she looked directly up at the grate through which Vorador and Ajatar had been watching. Instantly, with that gaze on them, Vorador knew that she had discerned their presence and been aware of it the whole time. Before he could move, the Hylden woman raised one hand and she gestured.

There was a flash of light and Vorador recognised the telltale traces of a translocation spell, directed at them. He tried to block it but it was on him before he could raise a defence and he and the startled Serioli Grandmaster were teleported a very short distance.

When Vorador's sight cleared from the flash, he found himself staring into the surprised faces of Kishar, Enlil and Tiamatu.

Both he and Ajatar were standing before them in the direct centre of the Forum. All the Hylden in the chamber were looking straight at them. Vorador seemed to observe everything in slow motion, taking in every detail of the situation and his mind working like flashes of rapid lightning to determine the best course of action to prevent a seemingly inevitable confrontation.

"I summon to the Forum, as representatives of the Vampire race, Ajatar-Cadre of the Serioli Order and Vorador, the first son of Janos Audron." The Seer remarked in a very casual voice.

Ajatar instantly went to draw her short swords but Vorador grabbed her arm quickly to forestall that. If weapons were drawn then the entire Senate would immediately explode into violence.

"What?!" A Hylden in the Senate seats demanded, rising quickly to his feet.

"Vampires?! Here in the Forum!?" Another demanded and then the rest of them were up, all yelling with angry protests.

"Guards!" Enlil called out, backing away from the two apparent enemies suddenly in their very midst.

"Cease that!" The Seer called out and somehow her voice carried over the yelling inside the chamber and silenced everyone. "They came at my request."

The angry muttering continued, this time with tones of outrage from the more conservative elements in the Senate.

"You would invite our most hated enemy into the heart of our Forum?!" Enlil asked, now openly scornful against the Seer, her teeth bared in a snarl of hate. Most of the House of War joined in her protest, shouting angrily from their seats. Half of the House of Faith had joined them but most of the House of Knowledge stayed seated, although appeared grim.

"I did so because I will ask them for their opinion on our deliberations." The Seer replied in that same calm manner as if she were oblivious to their outrage. Causally she turned towards the two cornered Vampires. "Ajatar and Vorador are representatives of the only Vampires to retain some semblance of normality: the Serioli and the Cabal. If any Vampire group could organise against us, it would be they."

Ajatar tensed and rustled the feathers on her wings; seemingly she expected this intelligence to bring the wrath of so many Hylden down on their heads. Certainly there were many angry glares sent their way and the slightest sign of aggression might be seen as provocation.

"You have listened to our discussion." The Seer continued. "What say you?"

All eyes, even those of the hard-line conservative sceptics were suddenly on them both and Vorador knew that what was said and done next might very well determine the balance of power in Nosgoth. Quickly he cast a glance at Ajatar and their eyes met. In that one look he could tell that she understood this as well and she nodded once, relaxing her hands away from the hilts of her short swords.

With very slow, deliberate movements to show no intention of hostility at all, she turned to face the assembled senators.

"The Serioli do not follow the Oracle, the hub of the Wheel of Fate." She said in a clear voice, despite her very mortal peril. Her tone was calm and relaxed and she was pushing all the sincerity she could into her words. "We fought in the war only because it was our duty to our kin to do so. If the Hylden sue for peace here, in this new era... the Serioli will honour the ceasefire."

"As will the Cabal." Vorador put in quickly in his own strong voice, glancing across the faces of those assembled to see what impact they had. He did not really imagine they would sway the Hylden but it might just be enough to prevent an explosion of violence. He was no so arrogant as to assume he was a match for a city full of such creatures. "My offspring desire only to be left alone on their island habitat, free to continue living unmolested. Grant them that liberty and they will ignore you."

For a moment, there was a digestive silence. Then the quiet was broken when Enlil recovered her wits and stepped forward, face contorted with anger.

"All honeyed words and venomous fabrication!" She said with venom. Accusingly she pointed a finger directly at him. "Was it not you, Vorador, who assisted in the death of our general, the beloved Hash'ak'gik?" The Hylden in the Senate seats began to mutter angrily amongst themselves again at the reminder and many of the House of War had their hands close to the hilts of their various weaponry. "You sought to topple your hated 'Sarafan Lord' and in doing so you assisted in the murder of the greatest military mind the Hylden have ever known!"

Vorador paused pointedly and fixed her with a flat, unfriendly expression, refusing to rise to the challenge.

"If you wish to bring the true culprit to account on that score, wait for Kain to come back." He said in an almost mild tone. "Then you can drag him before a judge."

This provoked an explosion of shocked exclamations from the Hylden around them. Some looked stunned, others slightly frightened and even more frowns could be seen. The violent tension in the air seemed to have gone, replaced by a sudden atmosphere of panicked alarm.

"Kain?!" One of the Hylden senators repeated in terms of dismay. "Kain lives?!"

"Impossible! He was flung beyond the rim of time itself!" Another spluttered with indignation, eyes bulging in surprise and dismay. "Nothing living can survive that void!"

Vorador glanced back and forth across the assembled Senate, gauging their reaction. Then he turned to look up at the Seer on her throne. She sat there with the faintest hint of a satisfied smile on her face and instantly the Vampire knew she had planned this from the start. Suddenly, in a flash of perception he realised just where that naive blue skeleton Raziel had so suddenly disappeared to and perhaps where the reclaimed Nexus Stone had gone as well.

"Yes..." He began slowly and quietly as if to himself, watching her with narrowed hard eyes, not really speaking to anyone else.

"Yes, Kain survived." Ajatar declared, picking up where he left off apparently having gotten the grasp of the importance of events herself. Or perhaps she had already known and simply not told him about it. He would believe either. "Even now Raziel traverses the streams of time to retrieve him. I cannot imagine that they will be long in returning."

The Hylden around them, even Enlil, looked worried now. Ajatar stepped forward and her voice became more forceful.

"Would you contend with the Scion of Balance now?" She asked. "Or will you opt for a ceasefire in order to prevent certain destruction, your souls torn from your bodies by the Reaver blade?"

This had a deep affect on the Senate and many of them sat back down in their seats. Enlil, however, blinked to recover from her shock and then her snarling, angry expression came right back.

"You come with declarations of peace and then threaten us, in our own Forum?!" She asked, her small fists clenched tightly to either side of her body. Now that he was paying attention and saw her close up, Vorador saw that she appeared no older then seventeen. Given the Hylden's immortality granted to them by their alchemic connection to the demon realm, it was hard to place her actual age. "Your kind is not to be trusted! Never to be trusted!"

This seemed to be the point that the Seer had been waiting for. She nodded once and stood up from her throne.

"Then there must be a trail at arms." She said. All noise ceased instantly and everyone looked at her, many faces intently puzzled. Even Enlil looked confused "Under the ancient traditional law, if two parties are at an impasse and no recourse can be otherwise found in legal procedure, then the involved may each choose a champion to fight on their behalf." The Seer went on into that silence. "Each has their choice of weapon and duel until one of them submits, or dies."

The Senate was quiet a moment longer and then erupted back into huddled conversation again, each House talking amongst itself in conversations audibly just above whispers but enough to produce a deafening collective murmur.

"Is that legal, Lord Enki?" A member of the House of Faith asked, calling down from his elevated seat to the white haired Hylden, who had stood off to one side ever since the arrival of the two Vampires. Enki frowned in thought and looked up at the glass ceiling.

"It is unconventional. A challenge has never been offered in political discourse before." He said but then shook his head and looked back down with a sharp nod. "However, I see no legal objection to the proposal. Very well. There will be a trail at arms."

Vorador wondered at such an archaic concept as trial by combat being part of so advanced a culture, but supposed he ought not to be surprised. His own Vampire ancestors, after all, despite their might and wisdom had been prone to the mind rot of religious extremism.

Enlil looked around, seeing that the Senate seemed to be leaning towards accepting the Seer's proposal. Grunting, the young Hylden stepped forward.

"If that is the case, then I nominate myself as the champion of all the Hylden who have suffered because of the Vampire's fanaticism." She declared in a loud voice.

The Seer nodded without any surprise.

"And for the Hylden who desire peace, an end to perpetual conflict and a chance to truly live again ..." She started and Vorador felt his heart sink in anticipatory dismay. He knew what was coming. "I nominate Vorador, son of Janos."

-0-

**_"So that was the purpose behind this song and dance. I was to be her bully boy to force her political agenda. I could not say I was really surprised. Still, if this was all she desired then I would count it cheap as the price for even half of the promises she made me. But wary she had best be if she reneged on our compact."_**

-0-

It only occurred to him peripherally that if he were to win this supposed duel then he could secure for the Vampire race something it had not had for thousands upon thousands of years: a ceasefire with the Hylden species. However, at the present moment that mattered little to him as some more Hylden were entering the Forum, carrying with them a large tray. Laid upon this was a selection of ugly, cruel looking weapons. There were axes, short blades, long swords and a curving sickle-like blade with an edge so sharp that it gleamed in the faint moonlight.

These, Vorador surmised, were weapons to be offered to the duellists. Enlil strode forward to claim hers confidently.

"I choose the Gáe Bolga!" She said firmly. "The Spear of the Serpent's Teeth!" The weapon she snatched up was a spear almost the length of a pike, ending in a large barbed tip. Down its edge ran a series of serrated protections that looked very much like the teeth taken out of the mouth of some large carnivore. The shaft of the spear itself was made of metal, faint yellow almost to the point of being white.

"Vorador, that weapon." Ajatar remarked swiftly, her face creasing into a frown. "Its shaft is made out of Eclipse-ka." Vorador turned to look back at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Of what?" He asked with genuine confusion. He was one of the most accomplished smiths in Nosgoth's long history and he had never even heard of such a substance before.

"It is a rare metal, not even native to Nosgoth." Ajatar told him, keeping her eyes on the spear intently. "The ore can only be mined in the demon realm and it is scarce even there." Quickly then she glanced directly up towards the curved glass ceiling. "It can draw energy from the reflected light of the moon itself; augmenting the user's strength at least three fold."

Vorador followed her gaze. Directly overhead in the sky the full moon was fully visible through a parting in the black smog clouds.

Enlil was holding the spear above her head towards that milk white orb, a slightly sadistic grin parting her lips.

"I only ever used the substance once in forging myself, after the ore had been found in a raid on a Hylden stronghold." The Grandmaster of the Serioli breathed with some concern. "I made a shield on commission. I know how potent it can be when used correctly."

Vorador snorted and then turned his attention back to the impending confrontation. That spear was a dangerous enough weapon without some augmenting sorcery and from the way Enlil was handling it, he could discern that she was skilled with such tools. Briefly he glanced down at the other weapons on the tray. While Hylden weapons were superior to any a human could make, Vorador knew without a trace of arrogance that his smiting skill outstripped them.

"Well, Vampire? What weapon shall you chose?" Lord Enki asked.

"If it is all the same to you..." Vorador replied and reached into his red robes. Swiftly he produced his own blade, the movement fluid and graceful. He held the sword up for them all to see and several Hylden recoiled in alarm at the sight of it. He didn't hold that against them. The sword did very much look like the Reaver. It had the same serpentine curving blade and skull hilt, only it was a one handed sword rather than a claymore.

"This is Marrow." He announced, holding the sword level with his eyes and making quick inspection of its surface. "Made from the same forge and alloy as the Reaver itself. It is the Reaver's sister sword. With this blade I slew six members of the Circle of Nine and defeated the Sarafan Paladin, Malek." He gave Enlil a sidelong glance. She was glaring at him with narrowed eyes, the Gáe Bolga at her side in her tightened grip.

"The champions and their weapons are chosen." Enki stated with a firm nod. "Let the arena be cleared of all non-combatants."


	3. 2 The Impossible Fossil

The only people now standing on the floor of the Forum circle were Vorador and Enlil, the two of them facing each other across the width of the chamber. The Senate around them was watching in avid fascination, all eyes on the two figures standing there. Ajatar was off to one side, her hands on her hips quite pointedly near the hilts of her two blades. There were many Hylden in the House of War that wanted to take her under armed guard at least.

Enlil clenched and unclenched her fist around the shaft of her spear, pausing briefly to shift her shoulders to compensate for the weapon's weight. Calmly Vorador stood there, observing her unblinkingly with a steady, analytical gaze. He saw instantly that she was no simple enthusiast. Her balanced stance revealed she had had extensive combat training. This would normally not be an obstacle. His own strength and speed were enhanced far beyond what was normally physically possible, but Vorador was not at all sure of what the limits of Hylden endurance were. He had never before faced one in battle himself.

Lord Enki had taken a position in the elevated seats, safely out of the way of the combat arena. He glanced between them and then nodded once.

"Begin." He said firmly.

Vorador relaxed his body and arched his back, holding Marrow up level with his chest, one hand before him with talons spread.

Enlil was the first to attack. She lunged across the distance between them with the Gáe Bolga arching around in her grip, the sharp edge of its tip making a whistling sound as it passed through the air. The movement was fast, far faster than Vorador had been expecting, perhaps augmented by the supposed ability of its material to enhance the wielder's strength and stamina while in moonlight. Still he dodged it, sidestepped so that the tip passed a mere inch from the end of his nose.

He struck back with Marrow and the curving blade clashed against the shaft of the spear. Sparks flew off in all directions at the collision of metal on metal. Enlil back stepped swiftly, spinning her small body around with the spear tip becoming a deadly cutting whirlwind. The Vampire parried each strike away in a blur of his sword arm, his eyes tracking her every movement despite her speed. Patiently he waited for an opening that would inevitably open in her offensive posture.

When it came, he slapped the oncoming spear tip of Gáe Bolga aside so that it stabbed through the air past his head. In the same motion he thrust Marrow forward, his aim perfectly angled to stab through her chest.

Unfortunately it seemed that Enlil had been holding back. Her arms spun backwards in a way that ought not to have been physically possible and the butt of the Gáe Bolga knocked Marrow off to one side away from its intended target, the blade missing her entirely. Then she sidestepped and backed off, spinning the spear around in front of her defensively.

Vorador frowned and took a few short steps to the left, quickly re-evaluating her. If she could perform manoeuvres like that then a conventional fencing technique was not going to be sufficient.

"Come Vampire, let us see if the vaunted regenerative abilities of your kind can stand up to a wound made by the Gáe Bolga." She offered, her voice an insulting contemptuous purr. Swiftly she brought up the spear so it was level with her head. "This weapon makes only one wound when it punctures the body yet when it is pulled out..." She drew the weapon back and in the moonlight, the many barbs along its surface gleamed faintly. "It tears open the flesh and sends entrails flying. I wonder if you can regenerate your insides after I scatter them all over the floor."

Vorador ignored the words with perfect ease. He had heard this kind of idiotic nonsense too often from arrogant young fledglings, drunk on their elevated sense of power. Humans were not powerful creatures and when they were granted abilities by the Dark Gift, it frequently went to their heads. Even Kain had been guilty of it in his youth. Briefly, he wondered if the augmenting power of the metal the spear was made from was causing a similar reaction in this Hylden girl. If so, that could prove useful. Over confident people made mistakes.

This time it was his turn to go on the offensive, darting to the left with Marrow at the ready. Enlil turned to face him but as she did, Vorador performed a sharp turn in mid-stride and came at her frontally. Marrow sang through the air as it descended towards her collarbone. The Hylden girl saw the attack and stepped back but the tip of the sword sliced through the skin of her chest regardless. Hissing, she backed off, holding up a hand to the injury. It was a fleeting scratch of a wound but it bled profusely. She brought her hand away from her chest covered in blood and she snarled. He had drawn first blood.

Then, just to show her he could, Vorador gestured with his free hand once. Instantly the blood on her hand and from the cut itself leapt through the air and straight down his open mouth, telekinetically drawn to him. It was a fleeting amount of blood and its loss would not hamper her but its psychological impact was far greater.

Enlil let out a bark of indignant rage at such an affront, her eyes bulging. Angrily she wiped the blood away from the wound and then darted to one side, spinning Gáe Bolga with both hands. Vorador cleaned the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and then ran forward as well, keeping himself low down to the floor to maintain his centre of balance.

The Hylden girl swung her spear around almost as if she were trying to cleave him with an axe blade, losing some of her finesse in her anger. Vorador danced clear to the left, then back to the right to avoid the next swing. Snarling, Enlil drew the Gáe Bolga back and stabbed at him furiously over and over again. Vorador watched her motions with unblinking eyes and fluidly he slipped through each lunge, his movements seeming less like he was dodging the weapon of an enemy trying to kill him and more like a single flowing dance routine. This was no result of his Vampire enhanced skills, although that certainly helped, but was rather a refined martial arts technique. It had begun with a simple defensive stance taught to all new Serioli recruits which he had gradually adapted over the centuries to best fit his growing powers.

It allowed him to quickly anticipate her moves and use his own body weight to slip through them, his motions as fluid as the breeze. Each time he dodged a swing he took a step nearer, inexorably slipping past her line of defence.

The Hylden girl took a few steps backwards, suddenly bending and drawing the bladed tip of Gáe Bolga across him at the shins. Vorador leap out of the way, somersaulting in mid air. Marrow flashed in his grip, coming down at Enlik's unprotected head. But she dove forward, rolling across the floor before springing back to her feet. Backing off a short distance she held the spear up at head height and then with a tremendous heave she tossed the weapon full at the Vampire. Her throw was powerful and the Gáe Bolga flew like a shot arrow directly at his head.

Vorador had not been entirely expecting the speed of the throw and the only thing he could do to prevent his head being impaled was slip himself back into his bird form.

Shape shifting was a skill any Vampire could acquire, given enough time and the imagination required. Usually most could turn themselves into bats or dogs. Vorador, however, had chosen to educate his body to take on the shape of the ravens which had once flocked to his mansion. His body contracted in on itself with a crackling of energy and Gáe Bolga sailed harmlessly overhead, imbedding itself into the side of the wall with some force.

Flapping his wings, Vorador flew away from the weapon while Enlil darted forward to retrieve her weapon. She yanked it free of the hole it had made with seemingly no effort.

Vorador crossed to the other side of their arena and blurred back into his own form, Marrow once again in his grasp.

"Changing shape, and any other foul Vampire art ought not be allowed!" One of the Hylden from the House of War proclaimed, standing up and waving a fist in the air. There were many who joined that protest.

"There are no rules against the participants of a contest using any skills at their disposal." Enki replied firmly, without taking his eyes off of the contest. "Objection overruled."

Enlil ignored the banter above, sidestepping slowly, holding the spear level as if she intended to throw it again. Vorador followed her pattern, stepped to the side in the opposite direction.

This time it was the Vampire to go on the offensive, rushing in with Marrow arching up from below swiftly. Enlil quickly brought Gáe Bolga up to block it and the blade glanced off the barbs along its length. Vorador brought the length of his sword down across her form and that was when Enlil struck back, flicking the tip of her spear up and knocking the blade aside.

In that same motion, the many barbs running along its length raked savagely down the Vampire's sword arm, biting in deep. Blood welled from the torn and shredded flesh instantly. The barbs sliced through the arm and tore through his outer red robes. With a hiss of pain Vorador backed off several paces, almost dropping his sword.

An expression of jubilation spread across Enlil's face at the sight of the injury. She turned and held her weapon and its blood soaked barbs up to her compatriots in the House of War above, who called down encouragement and cheers for the wounding.

Vorador quickly inspected the wound. The tearing barbs had gone through his flesh deeply, but his energy resources were more than sufficient to heal such an injury. Grunting he forced the wound closed, the flesh reuniting and the skin concealing it once more. The red robe he wore, however, was now a shredded ruin and flapping in his way.

Reaching up he unclipped the two obsidian shoulder pads to let them fall down behind him and drag the robe with them, leaving him in his white shirt, belt and trousers. Forcefully rolled his sleeves up over his elbows and flicked his now healed arm.

"Impressive." He admitted almost happily with some genuine appreciation for the cutting edge of such a weapon. "Just what animal do those teeth come from?" Enlil traced one finger across the edge of a barb, cleaning away the blood.

"These are the fangs of the Ammit, a terrible native of the demon realm, a unique creature that is constantly fed by a host of its kin with fresh blood and torn organs." She said with a hint of malice, placing the butt of the staff on the floor and wrapping her hand around its hilt. "My master, Shamash, braved the wilds of that hideous realm to face the Ammit in combat and pried from its jaws the teeth that adorn this spear."

Vorador fluidly held Marrow out before him, his stance relaxed as if he were merely fencing.

"Bones and teeth, blood and organs." He said and a deliberately malicious grin crossed his face. "How deliciously macabre."

Enlil's triumphant smile faded somewhat and she flicked the Gáe Bolga up into both hands again, before launching herself at the Vampire with renewed effort.

By now, however, Vorador had decided that enough was enough. He had taken the time to gauge the full extent of the Hylden girl's abilities and however much they were enhanced by the material of her weapon, his skill still exceeded hers. There was nothing to be gained by prolonging this conflict any longer.

Enlil was coming at him with the spear and swiftly he sidestepped to avoid the stabbing motion, batting the blade to one side with a flick of Marrow's blade. Quickly he was inside her defences and stayed there, slashing away at her with Marrow. The spear was a long-range weapon and not ideally suited for close combat, especially with its bulk against the short slashing technique the Vampire began to employ.

Eyes widening in alarm and sudden frustration, Enlil kept backing up trying to gain more room. Vorador moved with her, not allowing her a moment to recover, keeping her on the defensive. He wasn't trying to break through her defences but rather keep her pinned long enough for the girl to make the mistake he was waiting for.

Letting out a snarl, Enlil stepped quickly to the side and thrust the spear downward, trying to piece him through the leg and immobilise him. Vorador countered by bringing his boot up sharply. The toe of his boot knocked the descending blade tip aside. Taking advantage of that deflection, the Vampire brought Marrow forward and up.

The blade sank into Enlil's left shoulder deeply and bit into the bone, drawing a pooling stream of blood. With a howl she backed off, quickly placing her hand to the wound to prevent the loss and any attempt on his part to feed from the injury. This wound was far more serious but the anger in her eyes showed that she cared little for it.

After a moment to gather up her rage, she held up the spear and with a roar of indignant fury she charged.

This was the mistake Vorador had been waiting for. She was blinded by her hate, pain and anger and did not notice that she had left herself wide open.

As she came at him, the spear held back for an impaling style move, the Vampire grabbed the oncoming blade in his free hand, cupping his talons under to avoid its sharp edge. Enlil's own momentum almost did the rest. With one heave Vorador arched his back and pulled the Hylden girl up overhead. For a single suspended moment she hovered in mid air and then with a single motion he smashed her down to the ground with all the force he could muster.

She hit the floor with a loud smacking crunch sound and part of her horn-like crest broke off where she had struck the ground. The girl rolled a short distance and then came back up to her feet. Her face was contorted with an expression of intense frustration, which quickly turned to shock when she saw the small piece of broken horn lying on the ground before her. Quickly her hand went to the tip of her crest, feeling the now jagged end.

The Hylden in the Senate seats began to murmur in surprise and dismay. Vorador quickly discerned from their reactions that a Hylden's crest was a distinctive mark, probably of family distinctions which he had earlier hypothesised. Apparently the breaking of the crest was a symbolic disgrace of some odium.

Quickly Enlil's expression changed and became a glare of such violent hatred that her eyes almost seemed to flicker with the usual Hylden green fire again.

"I will finish what my predecessor started and destroy your filthy kind!" She said, almost spitting the words as she tried to use the Gáe Bolga to push herself back to her feet.

Vorador looked at her with a contemptuous expression.

"Hold your infant tongue, whelp." He said flatly.

Enlil took one step towards him and there was a loud, sickening crunch as the bone in her leg which he had suspected she had damaged in the impact finally broke. With a squeal of agony she collapsed face first onto the floor, Gáe Bolga spinning harmlessly out of her grip.

"No!" She cried out in dismay and the Hylden in the Senate above gasped. Quite calmly Vorador walked over to her. None too gently he turned her over onto her back with one foot. Her leg was twisted off in an unwholesome direction and purpling grotesquely. He laid the tip of his blade against her throat, a clear sign of his victory.

The duel was over and he had won.

"Damn you, blood sucking leech!" Enlil cursed him and tears of frustration began to roll down her cheeks.

Vorador, staring down at her, briefly tensed as if he were just on the verge of thrusting Marrow down and severing her windpipe.

Then he quickly flicked his eyes up at Ajatar. The Grandmaster of the Serioli gave a very short shake of her head and frowned. He relaxed then. She was right. If this girl died then the House of War would rise up like an angry tide at her martyrdom.

"The trail at arms is decided." Lord Enki declared in a loud voice to all assembled. "Enlil has fallen. As per the law, the matter is concluded in the favour of Princess Damkina." He gestured up towards the Seer who still sat on her throne, perched on the edge of her seat. "The Hylden nation opts for a ceasefire with the Vampires."

Vorador flicked his eyes down to Enlil. The Hylden girl lay there with pain clear on her face from her wrenched and broken leg and even more from embarrassment and chagrin. Her expression twisted into a mask of utter dismay but then it all faded into a distraught and reluctant acceptance.

"I... I must follow the law." She admitted in a wavering and broken voice, taking deep breaths against her own pain. She turned her head and called out. "The House of War agrees to the truce." This was declared with utmost unwillingness.

Kishar, the new leader of the House of Faith, lowered her head in acceptance. She had not seemed emotionally invested either way and had protested the proposed ceasefire merely because it was her duty to do so.

"The House of Faith must obey the law." She said in a loud and clear voice. "We also agree to the truce."

"As does the House of Knowledge." Tiamatu called out firmly. There were many reactions from the assembled Senate. There were many long and angry faces but also quite a few that looked relieved and others simply glad that the battle was over.

"Then the three Houses are in unilateral agreement." Lord Enki proclaimed and clapped his hands together in front of his chest. "The ceasefire is ratified."

With the proclamation officially passed and now official policy, many Hylden began talking amongst themselves in voices that were none too quiet.

"I think that concludes our need for the discussion of politics this evening." The Seer said from her throne. Enki nodded in response.

"Indeed. I call this meeting of the Senate to an end." He declared. The murmuring Senate crowd did not wait for this, many having already risen to file out of the chamber. They would spread the news of what had taken place here to the rest of the city in no time.

Enki did not leave but rather supervised when two Hylden entered carrying a stretcher. They came in quickly and picked the injured Enlil up, transferring her over and then lifting her. Vorador presumed that she would be taken to whatever the Hylden had in place of a Healer. The new leader of the House of War quite deliberately turned her head away and did not look at him as she was carried past. The Gáe Bolga weapon was retrieved and carried out after her quickly.

Enki made to follow, but he paused and looked back. His eyes flicking between Ajatar-Cadre and Vorador himself.

"Vampires... I would not linger here if I were you." He advised slowly, in a politically neutral tone of voice. "We may have agreed to a ceasefire, but passions will run hot so long as you remain." He gestured to the team leaving with the injured Enlil. "Please, depart as soon as you can."

Vorador lowered his head briefly in acceptance of the polite but candid phrasing. Enki did the same, before turning and leaving the chamber.

Kishar turned and bowed in deep respect to the throne.

"Princess Damkina, congratulations on your political success." She said with some genuine appreciation. "An excellent strategy; pushing Enlil into becoming the symbolic figurehead for the conservatives and then knocking her down."

The Seer chuckled, almost girlishly, and stood up.

"I never fooled you for a moment, did I?" She asked.

Kishar smiled politely. "No, Princess." She admitted. "You didn't." She bowed again and left, following the other members of the House of Faith out of the Forum.

The Seer watched her go and then began to walk down the stairs from her throne to the chamber's floor.

"An excellent outcome, wouldn't you agree?" She asked the Vampires as she descended. Vorador's ear flicked in irritation and he forcefully sheathed Marrow back into its scabbard at his side. Anger was clear in his face and the Seer paused on the bottom steps at his vehemence.

"Is this all you required?" He asked flatly and harshly, gesturing around at the Forum chamber with its battle damage and scattered blood. "Hired thug muscle to put down the dogmatic elements standing in the way of your reforms?"

The Seer's expression became disturbingly neutral and she regarded him with a level gaze, her eyes narrowing with frosty disdain.

"I honestly thought you knew me better than that." She remarked coldly and then carried on down the steps to the floor of the Forum. When she got there, that cold manner had completely disappeared and her face was once more pleasantly smiling. Vorador's frown deepened at the use of such an obvious mask.

"Vorador, Ajatar-Cadre." She began to the two Vampires, nodding to each of them. "Might I present the Lady Tiamatu, the newly appointed Maestro of the House of Knowledge." She half turned and beckoned the only other Hylden in the room to come forward.

Tiamatu had not left the Forum with the others but had remained quietly to one side, as if she had been asked to in advance. Vorador supposed that was highly likely. At her introduction she stepped forward.

Close up Vorador saw her in greater detail. Her skin was perfectly smooth without a sign of any of the corrupting blemishes from the demon realm and, despite being hidden behind her crest and hard to see, her hair was silky smooth. It was her eyes that were the most startling part of her face. They had no irises at all, almost pure white the whole way through, as if she were blind. Yet she walked with full knowledge of where she was going.

"One has heard much about both of you." She said in greeting and her voice had that same strange accent the Seer had, although far more fluid.

"None of it pleasant, I am sure." Ajatar remarked ironically with a roll of her eyes. Tiamatu smiled with a chuckle.

"Indeed, although even that distorted account is impressive." She asked, turning to face the Winged Ancient. "You, Ajatar-Cadre stepped over three thousand years to come to this era, along with the rest of your Order." Slowly she approached her and Ajatar twitched a little in reaction. Tiamatu stopped then to reassure her.

"Pardon my curiosity, but I was born in the demon realm... after the war and the enforcement of the Binding. I have never had the opportunity to observe the wings of your kind firsthand." She said and held out her hands imploringly, lowering her head to show respect. "May I?" She asked.

Ajatar watched her with her golden eyes quite wide for a long moment, seemingly taken aback by the request. She hesitated a long moment and then her expression changed, becoming a little softer and slightly amused. She stood up straight and then began to spread her black feathered wings out to either side of her, pushing them to their full extent.

Tiamatu watched her do so and smiled. Slowly she came near and began to examine the wings close up, turning her head this way and that as she observed. Very gently she reached up and began to run her hands over the feathers, sliding up and then over the framework itself. Ajatar twitched at the touch and actually blushed, watching the exploration of her wings by this Hylden female.

"Ahh... excellent..." Tiamatu commented in some satisfaction. "What a wonderful evolutionary adaptation, the production of feathers encouraged in a mammal." She held one black feather in her hand and tested the fibres of the feather with her thumb. Then her attention turned to the muscles, walking around Ajatar to observe her bare back, much to the Grandmaster's uncomfortable dismay.

"And such a superb distribution of muscle across the shoulders, allowing for powered flight without the loss of physical strength from the rest of the body." Tiamatu concluded, coming around the other side. She smiled at Ajatar. "Thank you for your patience, Grandmaster." She said. Ajatar seemingly had nothing to say to this and merely coughed into her fist.

"And you, Vorador..." The leader of the House of Knowledge said, turning to face him. Vorador raised an eyebrow now that her attention had been turned on him. "It is a historical fact that you were decapitated and then returned to life." She said. "Very few have had the chance to dip into the Wheel of Fate and then return."

Vorador had been trying for quite some time to forget about that incident, even centuries later. Having his head forced into the slot of a guillotine, his body kept paralysed by the influence of that damned staff, was not something he really wanted recalled at any point. His resurrection had not been that pleasant either.

"Indulge me, if you please." Tiamatu urged him with curiosity in her voice. "Is the afterlife really as terrible as my people suspect?"

The Vampire paused at the question and his face became grave.

"I honestly don't remember anything in great detail." He replied and then frowned slightly. "All I know for certain was that I was kneeling before the blood thirsty crowd, the guillotine blade descending. Then I was swimming, dipped down into a river I cannot really describe. I felt like I was being dragged somewhere, caught in some strange tide. But then I felt myself being called back."

That, of course, had been when Umah, with a little help from a time displaced Kain, had recalled his soul back to his restored body. In reality the time between his death and his rebirth had been no more than a few days, but that dip into death had seemed like it had taken much longer.

"The River of Damned, the tide that flows through pain and sorrow, down into the bowels of the stomach of time." Tiamatu said cryptically, tilting her head to look up at the glass ceiling above. When she caught the confused looks being directed at her by the two Vampires she clarified; "It's a quote from the holy scripture of our people, the Gospels of True Sight, the Story of Warnings."

Then she smiled warmly.

"But enough of religion." She said briskly and turned to gesture towards the Seer with a nod of her head. "The Princess tells me you have some need of restoration."

Vorador's expression went flat and seeing that, Tiamatu nodded.

"Yes, I know of the plight of Janos Audron." She confirmed for him. "Ishtar had him displayed in public often, beaten, humiliated and forced to watch himself over the years as the corrupting influence of that other realm twisted his mind and body." Her tone was disapproving as she spoke. "But the Forum is not a good place for such discussion, too open to access by anyone." Vorador cast a glance around the chamber. It seemed devoid of anyone but themselves, but it was entirely possible that the other Hylden Houses were observing them through some discreet spying mechanism. "Let us go to the privacy of my laboratory in the House of Knowledge dome, where we may speak without hostile eyes and ears observing." The leader of the House of Knowledge recommended.

"I believe that would be prudent." The Seer agreed with a nod. "Lead on."

It was not necessary to exit the Forum's structure to reach their destination. The Hylden Avernus was arranged like a triangle, with the domes for each of the major House**s** set in each corner and the Forum itself in the middle. Projecting out from the dome of the Forum, long enclosed walkways extended across the distance. From the opposite end, another walkway extended and the two halves met in the middle to make one whole. This proved convenient as Vorador doubted he and Ajatar could simply walk through the streets, even if a ceasefire had been approved. Too many Hylden would be like Enlil: full of the old prejudice.

Still, Vorador found himself growing agitated. He knew he was being led around by the nose and he was disinclined to allow it unless it served some greater purpose. So far, all he saw was himself being slyly used to further another's political career.

As they walked through the long walkway, following Tiamatu, he walked beside the Seer and whispered to her in a low tone.

"I am not disposed to be tolerant of this foolishness for very long." He told her flatly. The Seer's expression did not change and she did not meet his eye.

"Have a little patience, Vorador, if you please." She told him pleasantly. "You certainly possess more of that quality then either Kain or Raziel."

Vorador snorted in derision.

"Kain is an idealistic fool with delusions of grandeur." He remarked with some distaste. "And the blue skeleton is hopelessly naive."

The Seer's smile actually widened at this and she half turned to give him an amused sideways glance.

"And that is what makes the two of them the best hope for this world." She replied and walked on without further explanation.

-0-

**_"The Hylden, or Unspoken, culture was once a subject of the deepest archaeological mystery to me. Their cities and ruins had been all but totally destroyed, all obvious evidence of their existence removed so that they might be forgotten. Yet here it was now before me, restored to all its glory. This House of Knowledge put the finest minds of humanity to utter shame, a haven of advancing science and rational inquiry. Despite what Janos might say, I categorically approved." _**

-0-

The dome of the House of Knowledge was a single large, hollow chamber, its ground floor segmented into many open compartments, each of which seemed to be devoted to different disciplines. From a brief glance from this bird's eye view, Vorador thought he could see activities related to sciences that had only just been discovered by the humans. One set of Hylden were observing the reaction of different chemical agents in a complex apparatus made of glass. Others were dissecting the remains of some dead animal while a teacher pointed out various internal organs. Yet another group was gathered around a large diagram that looked like a map of Nosgoth, but extended far beyond its known borders.

Vorador, who had always valued knowledge of any kind, found much to approve of in this atmosphere of learning. Even Ajatar was observing the educational nature of this House with some interest.

The room Tiamatu led them to was a suspended, round chamber in the centre of the dome near the ceiling. It was high vaulted and very wide, almost cathedral-like, with its own compartments devoted to other sciences but with enough space to have clear central floor. The walls themselves were engraved with diagrams that even a layman could tell were complex displays denoting advanced concepts of mathematics.

Vorador had a start when he entered for he sighted, in the corner of the chamber, the form of one of the native denizens of the demon realm rearing up with its clawed hands out before it. When he looked more closely he saw that the demon was in fact quite dead, its body preserved and stuffed. He was standing on a pedestal with a brass plate beneath etched with markings that no doubt indentified its particular species.

"This is the actually the laboratory of my predecessor, Marduk." Tiamatu remarked as they all entered, looking around at the place appraisingly. "He had it moved brick by brick from his first establishment in the 'other place'." She gestured off to one side, towards a set of etched carvings on the wall. "It was here that he began developing his method to speed the evolution of our own method of flight."

Vorador looked and saw that the display showed the dissected anatomy of a Hylden, with their complex muscular and skeletal system revealed. The bony structures on the back of the species were highlighted and a great many notations had been added in around them. He did not understand the markings but from the image alone, he seemed to feel that the designer had been attempting to write down some sort of formula or equation.

He had seen the result of this work, when the Hylden Marduk had come to investigate his castle on the Island. The outcome had been a confrontation between Marduk, Raziel and himself on his own battlements.

"Unfortunately his method required sacrificing the strength and general well-being of the rest of his body." Tiamatu carried on, turning away from the diagram. "I will not attempt to repeat his experiment until that can be remedied."

She walked over to a level surface not quite like a table and lifted up a long branding pole with a faintly glowing blue Glyph that Vorador recognised as the instrument used to restore that Hylden back in the public square.

"But it was his research that gave us the method of restoration, undoing the damage caused by our imprisonment."

Ajatar approached to study the instrument close up. Tiamatu did not object, perhaps because she had been permitted to examine the Grandmaster's wings. She even handed the prod to the inquisitive Vampire. The Ancient examined the instrument close up, turning it over in both hands while her face creased in a frown.

"I did not think eons of exposure to that evil place could be undone so easily." She commented, turning the prod over to look at the style of the blue Glyph. After a moment she looked up in her curiosity. "And for that matter, if you could affect such restoration why did you not do it inside the demon realm to maintain yourselves in your banishment?"

Tiamatu actually looked a tad offended by the question.

"By no means was it easy." She said in a disgruntled tone. "It required a great deal of trial and error experimentation, just like any other fledgling science. Those who volunteered to test the procedure did not all survive." Then she seemed to remember herself and settled down, displaying a rueful and apologetic smile. "And until we left that 'other place' we simply did not have the resources to affect the treatment at all."

Ajatar handed her back the prod and she replaced it on the table.

"There was a reason our people chose to build our city here, over the ruins of Avernus." The Seer began slowly and Tiamatu twitched, suddenly standing up quite straight. "Quite an important reason."

"There was a Hylden stronghold here long before the humans ever built their own settlement on top of it." The leader of the House of Knowledge put in very quickly as if she were trying to divert the course of that previous statement, looking back at the Seer. Vorador and Ajatar shot each other a discreet glance.

"But even that first city had a purpose in its location." The Seer continued completely undeterred by the apparent reprimand and there was iron in her tone as she spoke. "There was something buried here that we needed. Something quite vital."

There was a moment of silence as the two Hylden women stared each other down. While they might be political allies, it was apparent their views did not completely meld.

"Princess... the other Houses would not consent to you telling them about it." Tiamatu said, clearly reluctant to speak of this in front of two strangers, let alone Vampires. "It is one of our most closely protected secrets."

The Seer was steady in her adamant expression.

"That is my choice." She said. "And it is important that they both see it." Tiamatu's eyes widened in surprise.

"I did not think you wanted them brought here to view the artefact." She breathed in sudden awe at the Seer's daring for such an intention.

"I would not ask you to reveal it if it were not necessary." The Seer assured her.

"Reveal what?" Vorador asked flatly, his voice testy. Tiamatu glanced at him, her expression coloured by scepticism and then back to the Seer.

"They are both trained in the elemental Serioli techniques. They will sense what it can do immediately." She mused quietly. The Seer nodded.

"Inevitably." She said. "But it is a cardinal occurrence, Tiamatu." Then she smiled sardonically. "Moreover, I do not believe we should horde the precious knowledge all to ourselves. That would be very bad form in the face of the new ceasefire."

Tiamatu hesitated another moment, clearly caught in a flicker of indecision. Then she pressed her lips tightly together and turned, walking to the far side of the chamber. There she ran her finger over three ordinary-looking Glyphs and each one glowed green as she passed over it.

Then there was a deep groaning sound from directly below them and the floor beneath their feet heaved up, knocking the two Vampires suddenly off balance. Vorador steadied himself and quieted his alarm, seeing that the floor of the open space in the laboratory was beginning to part in the middle along a hidden seam. The space had been kept clear for quite a good reason.

Ajatar rose sharply up into the air, beating her wings frantically in that moment of alarm. Then she glided over to the edge of the moving platform and Vorador joined her there, the two of them turning as one to face the revealed compartment that had lain beneath.

As first Vorador did not understand what he was looking at, but when the light peered in through the widening crack more and more detail could be made out.

-0-

**_"And so we saw, stretched before us, a monstrous form; a mass of ancient bone. I knew of no creature in Nosgoth so large to have existed during my expanded lifetime."_**

-0-

The colossal skeleton was laid out on its side, many of the joints disconnected and strapped in place by large metal bolts. Annotation Hylden Glyphs marked every bone, perhaps a note on the role it had played in the dead creature.

The remains were massive, even when laid out with all the pieces disjointed and separate. The tail alone had to be about twenty feet in length and the snake-like neck half of that. The rib cage was mammoth and looked big enough for him to stand upright inside. The bones of the four limbs were all over the place and were clearly missing a few, making it impossible to guess the original dimensions of the beast. There were also many other bones scattered around but Vorador could not guess as to their function.

The skull was elongated and swept back in a crest, almost like that of a Hylden but framed by a line of curving horns that angled out behind it. Its mouth lay opened, revealing large dagger shaped teeth clearly showing this creature had been carnivorous.

-0-

**_"But beyond these observations, the bones themselves seemed to resonate with the echoes of elemental mastery, shades of what had once been a control over the ancient Serioli style disciplines that was unparalleled."_**

-0-

Within moments Vorador no longer cared about the creature's physical appearance. The resonance he could sense from the bones was far more compelling. As a student of the Serioli techniques of elemental forgery, he knew the secret of harnessing fire, water, air and earth and directing them into shaping whatever tool he required.

But these bones rang like a bell in his mind, their presence causing even the principals that comprised the elements to vibrate. Nature and Conflict seemed to flicker in the depths of Fire. Mind and Dimension reacted and stirred the Air. The principles of Death and States swirled to churn Water. Time and Energy spun ethereally to vibrate the very Earth beneath them. These bones were doing all of this simply by their mere presence. The Vampire stood there staring at them in awe and confusion.

Ajatar-Cadre, beside him, slowly unfurled her wings and then protectively drew them about her shoulders. She, too, was enwrapped by the bones, sensing their awesome potential, and the motion might have been an unconscious gesture for reassurance. After a moment she took a hesitant step forward, then stopped, her wide golden eyes fixed on the gaping maw of the creature. Its mouth was big enough to have broken her in half with one snap.

"What manner of 'artefact' is this?" She turned, though not looking away from the spectacle, her gaze focused and unblinking.

Tiamatu, with a frown marring her face, shot the Seer a glance and then stepped forward.

"According to Marduk, when he was still with us, the ancient war with your kind was going badly for our kind." She explained, her expression intense as she recalled the details. "We had received word of the intended summoning of a mighty magical weapon against us and we were desperately searching for a means of making a counterattack, or at the very least protecting ourselves."

She turned to look at the strange bones. "These were uncovered in a cavern, far below the ground. We didn't know what it was. In fact, we still don't know. But whatever the nature of the animal it once was, the bones proved to be a powerful catalyst in creating great changes in ourselves."

Vorador frowned and looked up at her, his expression questioning.

"This skeleton and its properties is what allowed the old scientist, Ambraxas, to create creatures we needed for the war, such as the powerful fungus monstrosity, the Mass in its Device." She explained but he could tell there was more to it than that by her expression. He kept his gaze on her.

Tiamatu suddenly began to look very uncomfortable. Whatever else she was not saying clearly was something quite sensitive.

Vorador's expression of firm demand did not change. Tiamatu tried seriously not to meet his gaze and avoid the expectant look.

Finally her shoulders slumped.

"It was from these bones that Shamash, Marduk and Ishtar drew the power to discharge the Curse of Agony upon your kind. The 'Dark Gift' as it became known to you."

At this confession, Ajatar's head quickly whipped up and her eyes were wide with stunned consternation.

"What?" She demanded in a harsh tone. Tiamatu looked very uncomfortable by now.

"These bones produce a catalyst affect that can alter living things, producing changes on some remarkable levels. The three of them siphoned off this ability to affect their contributions to the overall curse."

She held up one hand with three fingers extended.

"Shamash gave you the blood thirst to ensure you would never be allies with humanity again." She drew down one finger.

"Marduk gave you the vulnerability to both sunlight and water, to keep you bound to the land." Another finger descended.

"And Ishtar, in the cruellest twist of all, gave your ancestors '**_immortality'_** so they would be denied admittance to the Wheel they so loved."

The final finger came down.


	4. 3 Serioli Refuge

Ajatar seemed the most struck by this deep revelation, her wings dropping down to her sides as she tried to digest it. Vorador was far more clinical about it. To him, it made sense. Finally before him was the source of the Dark Gift, the material used to create the original curse. His analytical mind took it all in, picking over all the details and trying to sort them out into logical order. Somehow it seemed deeply appropriate that the macabre origin, the primary source of the curse of Vampirism itself, was a corpse.

The skeleton was an enigma as it defied his mind's attempts to categorise it. By all he knew of elemental lore, which was vastly extensive, the power and control these bones radiated ought not to be physically possible. No one creature should have the seemingly natural ability to command the elements and through them, the very particles that made up all physical matter. This was a transmutation-like power that alchemists could only dream about.

Vorador wondered what type of creature this had been. With its mammoth size, carnivorous nature and clear power in its bones, which had to have been diminished by the centuries after its death, it was hard to believe that such a creature would have escaped notice. Let alone an entire species of such beasts.

"All of that devilment, from these mere bones?" The Grandmaster of the Serioli asked in a faint voice, not taking her eyes from the remains. Her expression was one of stunned awe. For the Serioli, the mastery of the elements was almost a religious experience. What was laid before her now would have raised profound implications for the history, implementation and future of her beloved practise in her mind. Vorador turned to look into the open, hungry maw of the large dead beast. It was hard not to be intimidated by that mouth and its dagger-like teeth.

"What power this creature must have had in life..." Ajatar breathed airily, turning and walking around the edge of the shallow pit to study the bones from a different angle. Her wings were shivering, the feathers rustling in a clear sign of her agitation. She always did that when strong emotions were aroused.

"Just what is it?" Vorador asked, unable to really take his eyes away from the open mouth of the creature. It seemed strangely compelling for some reason.

"Ancient, even by our standards, if I cannot determine its species." Ajatar muttered darkly as if to herself, coming to a stop by the creature's curving tail. Its tip was segmented into many annotated parts all nailed down. "How exactly can these bones be used to alter things?" She asked, turning to look up at Tiamatu. Roused from his own study, Vorador looked towards the two Hylden women. He noted that the Seer was standing with her head turned to one side, so that she would not have to look at the dead creature.

"The resonance they produce affects the cohesion of organic matter, allowing for remote manipulation and reconstruction." Tiamatu explained after taking a moment to figure out how to simplify the advanced scientific concepts into an easily understood statement. "There is a limit, though." She added, seeing their incredulous expressions. "You are restricted to working with the potential that is already in the body of the one who you are 'altering'."

Vorador chuckled at this and a grin parted his lips and revealed his fangs.

"So no transforming fish into birds, or dogs into insects?" He asked her sardonically, his voice filled with a wry amusement. Tiamatu's returning smile was subdued.

"Not with this method, truly. It takes millions of years of regular evolution to produce those sorts of changes." She admitted.

Ajatar shook her head and turned back to the skeleton, her stunned awe beginning to fade and be replaced by an incredulous and perplexed scepticism.

"The elements that make up all living things, controlled so flawlessly by one creature." She muttered and neatly folded her wings behind her back again. "It ought not to be possible."

Vorador agreed, at least in theory, but he was not so foolish as to ignore the proof laid out right before his eyes. This creature ought not to exist and yet here it was.

"Perhaps we ought to be thankful its kind is extinct and long gone." He said, wondering to himself exactly when such a powerful breed of animals had been killed off. It would have to have been before the ancient war. Then the Vampire frowned, the strangeness of all this finally dawning on him completely and he turned to give the Hylden Seer a very penetrating look.

"Why are you showing us this?" He asked bluntly. The Seer did not turn around completely to look at him. She was definitely avoiding looking at the creature head-on, he was sure of it now.

"Because I was told to." She replied simply. At this answer Vorador's expression went flat and his eyes narrowed in deep suspicion.

"By who?" He demanded in a low tone. She just shrugged one shoulder and loftily cocked her head to one side.

"You would not understand if I told you." She said in an infuriatingly superior voice. "But it was imperative that you see this thing, that you know this creature." Her eyes moved back to him and there was amusement in them. "Especially you, Vorador."

He stared her down for a long moment, one of his large ears twitching in his irritation. If there was one thing he truly hated and despised, it was people who thought they were clever enough to mislead and falsely enmesh him.

"If you're trying to manipulate me, you're very bad at it." He told her bluntly. The Seer held his gaze and then smiled very lightly.

"Or I'm not trying to manipulate you at all." She suggested softly and then abruptly turned her back on him. "When you discover which, do enlighten me."

In his younger days Vorador might very well have flown at the Hylden woman with his bare talons and slashed her to death for such insolence. Kain probably would have. But by now Vorador was far too mature for such an infantile reaction and clearly she knew that. That made his ears flick in glowering resentment.

"It is the catalyst of these bones that allows for the restoration of our kind to our fair form." Tiamatu was explaining to Ajatar. The two of them stood together off to one side by the pit, looking down at the skeletal corpse. The leader of the House of Knowledge had a long pair of metal tongs in her hand. "We needed them in order to be whole and this is why we could not affect such healing in the 'other place'." At this she bent down to one knee and reached into the pit with the tongs. Very gently she picked up a small bone, perhaps a piece of vertebrae about the length of a finger, and lifted it out. She held the bone up for the Grandmaster to see while examining it herself. "Without them it was impossible."

Ajatar watched the bone with wide unblinking eyes, seeming to bask in the elemental resonance it was giving off almost in her face. After a moment of silence she lifted one hand and reached out towards the bone with the tip of a talon. Tiamatu watched her do so with a cautious eye. With a feather light touch the Grandmaster made contact with the bone.

There was a moment of prolonged silence and then Ajatar's wings lowered in disappointment, her face confused. Vorador did not know what precisely she had been expecting. Perhaps for a jolt of pure elemental energy to ripple down her arm?

"Would this process work on a Vampire?" He asked now, finally deciding that he had best come to the point before he was distracted any further. While all of this was an interesting mystery and might at another time be worth devoting time to, he had only one real concern.

"I have never had opportunity to try the process on any Vampire; much less one of the black winged ones." Tiamatu replied, supposing correctly that he had been referring to the need for the process on Janos Audron. Holding the bone in the tongs she crossed over to a work surface. Laid out across it was a small collection of glass tubes all held in order of size on a stone rack, as well as various other types of strange scientific equipment.

There she laid the fragment in a small container that had stood waiting, the inside of which was lined with a fabric padding. She placed the bone inside and folded the fabric over it. "But I imagine that will make a difference, since the procedure is currently calibrated for use on only my people."

Then she turned to the glass vials, pausing briefly to consider and then selecting two of them of about equal size. One of these she also placed inside the container, along with a few other strange tools and then shut it. Carrying the spare glass vial in one hand she began to walk over to them. On the way past she picked up the blue glyph prod that had been left on another surface.

She paused by the wall and then ran her hand up the same markings that had opened the pit in the floor. Their glow dimmed in response and, with a loud grinding noise, the two halves of the covering platform began to slide shut again. Ajatar kept her eyes on the bones of the creature as long as possible, before the floor reconnected and they were hidden from view. Instantly the feeling of elemental churning faded. Perhaps, now contained, the affect of the remains was isolated. The Seer finally turned to face them fully and there was an unmistakable hint of relief in her eyes that the creature had been covered back up.

"To attune it to affect healing on your sire, Janos, I will require a few samples of blood." Tiamatu said when she reached them and that strange statement was so sudden that there was a moment of awkward silence.

Vorador stared at her with a blank expression.

"Blood?" He repeated and he did not bother to hide his deep and suspicious scepticism. Tiamatu, either oblivious to his suspicious tone or ignoring it entirely, held up the small glass vial she had retrieved. It even had a glass stopper.

"The curse that makes you Vampires what you are runs in your blood, even if some don't like to admit it." She said with a smile of knowing confidence. With a flick of her thumb she opened the vial. The stopper came clear with a short squeak of glass on glass. "As such I will need a sample of blood from Janos' nearest kin, as well as a sample from Janos himself." She held out the vial to him. "With those as references I can make the necessary adjustments."

The Vampire looked at the vial with extreme distaste.

"You want me to bleed?" He asked rhetorically, the edge of his mouth pulled down as his face adopted a disapproving frown. Tiamatu indicated a level in the vial about halfway up its length with one finger.

"I will not require much, just enough to perform some rudimentary experiments with." She assured him. Vorador did not particularly feel reassured and glared at the vial with active dislike. What he was being asked to do was distasteful to him. In certain aspects of the later Vampire culture, blood was a very precious thing and its waste was considered an aberration. Blood should only be shed in battle.

"Vorador, don't you want your dear beloved father restored?" The Seer asked him mockingly and he flinched visibly at the jibe.

-0-

**_"I trusted none of this species, not even Damkina, fully. Perhaps I was letting my perception be clouded by my sire's prejudices. Whatever the case, placed before me was a very simple choice: restoration or damnation for my father."_**

-0-

He stared at the little vial for a long moment and then grunted, his ears drooping a little in reluctant acceptance.

"So be it, then." He sighed in resignation. Tiamatu managed a short smile and made to open her container, perhaps for one of her tools. Vorador quickly held up a restraining hand. "But not here." He told her firmly. "I will have this process watched over in my own habitat."

He ignored the Hylden woman's surprised look and closed his eyes for a moment. The Whisper was an ability that all Vampires shared. It was a natural telepathy developed during their kind's evolution as the Dark Gift grew amongst their numbers. Long distance communication could be achieved by wizards and other sorcerers, but that involved magical incantations and was a messy spell. The Whisper was far more reliable.

The strength of the gift depended on the energies and skill of the Vampire employing it and to a lesser extent, the metal aptitude of the receiving party. As a Vampire of considerable age and ability, Vorador himself could reach out some distance to speak to any other of his kind he desired.

-(Sally... do you hear me?)- His mind echoed out, calling to one of his spawn. Back on the island where his castle stood, the Cabal would by now be revived from their own sleep. He had left them with instructions to keep the island peaceful and the castle secure. Above all, he had charged them with the guardianship and wellbeing of Janos Audron.

Sally was the strongest of the Cabal. Having stayed awake while the others slept, her powers had greatly increased. She had assisted him in the battle with Ishtar and the rescue of his sire.

-(Sire?)- Her mind echoed back after a moment. She was not as skilled with the Whisper as he was and so could only speak to him across this distance when he made the connection.

-(I will be returning shortly. Have Janos cleaned and dressed in fresh clothing. We will be having visitors.)- He told her crisply, fully expecting the Cabal to have everything prepared by the time they arrived. There was a very long pause.

-(My lord... Janos is no longer here.)- She replied, her mental echo sounding very reluctant to speak. Vorador opened one eye in surprise, his frown deepening suddenly.

-(What?!)- He demanded, his thought lashing against her mind unintentionally in his vehemence, like a tidal wave striking the shore.

-(At midnight after you left, some more of your sire's kind arrived.)- She told him with a very submissive thought. -(They said they had come to bring him to a secluded place of safety. We told them we could not allow it but they knocked us aside with their numbers and weapons. There were too few of us and many of us were still too weak from the sleep to prevent them. They took off with Janos before we could stop them. I tried to inform you with the Whisper but you were out of range for my skill.)-

He listened to her somewhat rushed report and then opened both eyes, his expression grim and dangerous. He didn't bother asking her any more questions. He shut off the connection and then turned, deliberately slowly to look at Ajatar-Cadre.

"Ajatar." He began in a very low and controlled voice, not letting any of the annoyance he felt show on his face. "Would you like to explain why the Serioli have seen fit to abduct my sire?"

The Grandmaster of the Serioli half turned and gave him a sidelong glance. By her expression he could instantly see that not only did she know of the abduction, but the command for the heist had come directly from her.

"I ordered him taken to our new stronghold, an abandoned mountain retreat that once belonged to Lord Kain." She said flatly to him, instantly confirming his suspicion. Her tone was completely unapologetic. "Janos might not be Serioli, but he is still one of my people. I could not leave him there where he was vulnerable to Hylden attack."

Neither Tiamatu nor the Seer seemed to take any offence at this remark. Tiamatu herself cocked her head to one side in some confusion.

"Where is this stronghold?" She asked.

"Far to the west, in the mountains north of the Lake of Tears." The Seer replied promptly. "Kain used it as a mountain sanctuary, an impregnable fortress that is almost unassailable." At Tiamatu's questioning expression, she smiled. "I showed the Serioli where it was." She explained. The leader of the House of Knowledge considered this briefly, scratching the underside of her chin.

"If that is where Janos has been taken, then that is where we must go." She said in conclusion. Ajatar looked at her with stern disapproval on her face.

"I cannot allow Hylden inside the walls of our stronghold!" She said adamantly, a frowning marring her expression. Tiamatu glared back at her, her own expression matching the Grandmaster's perfectly.

"And I cannot treat Janos if I am not physically present." She retorted sharply. "Unless you want to bring him here?" Her tone was sarcastic.

Ajatar glared at her. Tiamatu glared back. The two of them stood there for a long moment before the Grandmaster looked away sharply, her wings faintly rustling.

"Only Tiamatu and myself will be going with you." The Seer said in a more tactful voice. "You may have a guard on us at all times if you feel it necessary." She assured the Ancient Vampire. Ajatar's frown clearly showed she was deeply opposed to this idea.

"Do not quail at this, Ajatar." Vorador told her and both his face and expression were very stern. "Not after you abduct my sire from his sickbed."

The Grandmaster of the Serioli glanced between them all with a frown, finding herself bereft of allies on this issue. Still, this was a large thing she was expected to do, allow ancient enemies of her race into her fortified stronghold. Even though there might be a supposed 'ceasefire', she was still a military leader and as such had an instinctive distrust of the enemy even during peacetime. However, she realised that under the circumstances, her hasty pre-emptive actions had made this the only thing to be done.

"Oh, very well." She said with a grunt of acquiescence. "I suppose it wouldn't be fair for the Hylden alone to make a gesture of peaceful intent." Tiamatu inclined her head but the gesture had a mocking quality to it.

"I thank you for your understanding, noble Grandmaster." She said with a drop of sarcasm in her voice. Ajatar gave her a sidelong look, full of dislike. Tiamatu's returning smile was impish. The Grandmaster snorted once derisively and then extended her hands out to the rest of them, arching her back and spreading her wings slightly.

The translocation spell she enacted was an elemental discipline, aligned to the study of Air which itself was composed of the principles of Dimension and Mind, both of which allowed for magical transportation. A luminous orb of mist surrounded them all, engulfing them completely and hiding the rest of the laboratory from view. The unmistakable sensation of movement and physical dislocation made Vorador's head swim and he knew they were being transported from one location to another instantly, regardless of the actual geographic distance.

The Hylden nation and their city were left behind in an instant and when the luminous mist cleared, Vorador found himself standing amongst the bleached white rocky boulders of a steep cliffside. He took a moment to collect his bearings, swiftly turning his head to survey the panorama. He had to shield his eyes with one hand against a strong gust of wind. From this new height he could see the land rolling out before him to the south.

The Lake of Tears was a shadow of its former self, a mere thin stretch of stagnant water that looked sickly green from this vantage point. Once the sight of the ancient Vampire Citadel, that colossal fortress had been eroded by the centuries down and down until even its foundations were submerged in the stinking mud of the bottom of the lake. There was no evidence now that any sentient being had built anything in this region at all. Everything was being eroded down to nothingness and he was just witnessing the final seeping away of all that had once been.

The scene was telling of the state of Nosgoth herself and the sight of it only reinforced his own notion of futility in any attempt to resuscitate this denuded world. All colour was leeching away, leaving Nosgoth little more than black, white and all shades of grey in between. Soon even that would go and the world would be a blank slate.

Just to the east, partly hidden behind the peaks, were the rising black chimneys of the imperial smokestacks. These belching furnaces were now silent and no more put forth the smog that clouded the sky and hid the fledglings from the light of the sun. Still, the damage from such foolishness had already been done.

Ajatar folded her wings tight to prevent the wind from catching in them and blowing her off the side of the mountain.

"We will have to walk from here, where we can be seen to approach with no hostile intent." She said, raising her voice over the whistling of the wind. "Or my warriors will just cut you down instinctively."

The two Hylden ladies were having trouble on the slope. The ground beneath their feet was made of loose rock and gravel and their feet were tridactyl and raised like a tripod, thus they sank into the gravel up to their ankles. Tiamatu was spreading her three toes out wide to give herself as a wide a surface area as possible. Despite their difficulty the two of them carried themselves with the utmost dignity as Ajatar led the way up the steep slope.

The path bent and twisted in many directions, and through the gaps in the tall rocks Vorador could make out the chiselled spires of a castle-like fortification. Ajatar paused to hoist herself up onto the top of a rocky plateau and then paused, looking up towards the structure as the others joined her.

-0-

**_"I had heard much of Kain's mountain sanctuary, his fortress of seclusion where none but his chosen elite guards were permitted to enter. With its abandonment the Serioli had occupied the structure and no better defensible position could they ask for."_**

-0-

As Vorador surveyed the fortress he saw that rather than being built outwards, the architects of this fortress had taken advantage of the sturdy, exposed bedrock to tunnel into the cliff itself. The fortress was mostly underground, sheltered and protected by the mountain itself. Spires and turrets grew out of rocky projections and many of the defences were formed from the stone itself without the need for mortar in the bindings.

Protected arrow slits lined the smoother outer walls, all angled to give the defenders the best shots at potential attackers while ensuring aggressors were left with no target for retaliation. There were even metallic overhangs at various places where there was the potential for the dumping of boiling pitch and other nasty substances.

What attracted his immediate eye, however, was the fortress's front gate. It was made of a rusty red iron and pitted, probably reinforced from the inside. Directly above it, engraved into the rock itself, was the curving bat-like symbol that had been adopted for the Empire. Beneath this were the other symbols of the Clans, all in order of the prestige of the lieutenants who served as their leaders. Strangely, the symbol for the Razielim had not been removed and was displayed proudly with the others. To either side of the gate, giving the illusion of holding up the rock above, were two large statues, each depicting Kain himself standing resolutely and proudly staring out with a determined expression on his face. In the hands of each statue was a facsimile of the Reaver blade, turned from its intended purpose as a weapon of liberation into the symbol of a tyrant's authority.

-0-

**_"Kain's sense of taste left much to be desired."_**

-0-

Tiamatu paused to consider the stronghold critically, her head cocked to one side. That seemed to be a personal eccentricity of hers; similar to Ajatar's twitching of the wings.

"Impressive." She remarked, perhaps out of the need to say something civil.

"Ostentatious." Vorador snorted in correction.

Ajatar stood there, looking up at the fortress for a long moment, her face strangely content, then began forward. As she approached the massive doors, she held up one hand with her talons clenched in a fist. When she reached a certain point she stopped and waited.

Then, after a brief pause, the door began to swing open. The gears of the colossal mechanism required to turn the hinges groaned loudly and the ground beneath their feet trembled at the vibration. Out of the revealed courtyard beyond came a small unit of Serioli warriors. They kept together in a tight 'V' formation as they flew and grasped in their hands was a variety of different weapons: axes, swords, spears and even three with longbows. The weapons were vastly outdated but in the hands of these trained warriors they were more than sufficient.

In the lead was the newly appointed second-in-command of the Serioli Order, a large winged Vampire who carried a large curving golden axe. His most distinguishing mark was a raking scar that travelled horizontally across his face over his nose.

With some distaste, Vorador saw that many of the Serioli had taken to wearing drapes over their shoulders, all of them boldly displaying Kain's imperial symbol. He knew that the Serioli had pledged themselves to Kain, their so-called 'Scion of Balance', and he wondered at their complete lack of taste for such a choice of idol.

"Ajatar! What is this?!" The leader demanded incredulously as the welcoming committee landed before her. He was not looking at his Grandmaster but rather at the two Hylden women who were standing prudently out of the reach of weapons. "You bring the enemy to our gates!"

Ajatar frowned and reared up, her demeanour becoming that of the confident military commander, even if she did not have a physically intimidating natural appearance.

"Hold, Ansu!" She said sternly to her second-in-command. "I do not like this any more than you do... but these two are guests." She swept her gaze over the other warriors assembled behind him, daring any of them to contradict her edict.

"Guests? The Unspoken, guests in our stronghold!?" Warrior Ansu asked, his face contorted with surprise, shock and disbelief. Ajatar nodded and her expression and body language radiated the fact that she was not going to tolerate insubordination on this issue.

"Yes... there is a ceasefire now." She told him flatly. The other Serioli Vampires began to exchange startled and confused looks amongst themselves at this statement. A few of them peered around at the two Hylden women, while trying to pretend they were doing no such thing.

"They are here to assist in restoring Janos' shattered mind." Ajatar announced overloud so they all heard her.

"You would trust them?!" Ansu was clearly not convinced of this at all. Frowning, Ajatar took a step closer to him and dropped her **voice** so that her words would not carry back to the others behind her. Vorador, however, had exceptionally good hearing, perhaps due to the evolution of his ears. He heard her quite clearly.

"No; but so long as they do what they say they will do and then leave, there is no harm." She told him quietly but firmly. "But I would have them escorted by at least three of our finest warriors." She held a talon up to his face. "And I mean '**_escorted_**', Ansu. Not imprisoned."

Ansu tensed at the flat and stern command. He was not filled with the zeal that prevented much of the ancient Vampire culture from accepting the Hylden, but rather he did not approve of this arrangement due to military reasons. Still, he had received a direct command from his superior and like any good soldier he would obey orders.

"As you say, Grandmaster..." He replied with distaste and then half turned to gesture back at the fort with a raised hand. Vorador heard the scrap of claw on stone as the archers and marksmen who had been watching their approach, unseen, were given the command to stand down. The Serioli with Ansu stood aside, some reluctantly and others with openly curious expressions on their faces. With this honour guard around them, the Hylden ladies were escorted through the gates and into Kain's lofty summer palace. Vorador followed along behind, taking some amusement in the reaction of the Vampires who saw the two 'guests'.

The interior of the mountain retreat was a honeycombed structure with many rooms and vaulted chambers carved out of the rock itself. Massive cylindrical stone pillars, inlaid with reinforced metal struts were positioned regularly to ensure the stability of the larger spaces. The outer walls of the fortress were at least thirty feet thick, the door sealed by a complex mechanism of gears and the only approach to its gate protected by a succession of battlements and archery towers. The fortress's position was so isolated that it would be supremely difficult for anyone not gifted with wings to physically get here.

The Serioli had taken well to this fortress and indeed here they would be able to defend themselves from virtually any hostile force. Vorador could both see and sense the employment of elemental smiting all around him. Experiments were apparently being undertaken to employ the materials of this later era in the construction of an elemental forge. Despite himself, Vorador found it pleasing that the only surviving aspect of the ancient culture of his ancestral species was the tolerant and rational Order he had known as a boy.

With one exception.

Janos Audron was laid out in a magnificent bed of thick fur and silk, wide enough for him to lie with his wings fully extended. The chamber was long with many side rooms leading off from it at regular intervals and filled with furnishings made out of polished metal, delicately carved and sculpted rather than riveted; including a table and a set of chairs, a work surface, a bookshelf and a weapons rack along one wall.

The floor was covered in a lush red carpet that absorbed the sharp edges of the talons of those who walked on it. Engraved in the ceiling overhead was another carving of the imperial symbol, inlaid with a golden metal.

The room also had the only decorative window Vorador had seen in this place so far: a large and arching stained glass window depicting the death of the Sarafan Lord by Kain's hands, the Reaver thrust through his **e**nemy's chest, all in bright and varying shades of green and red. From this alone Vorador had reason to suspect this was Kain's own bed chamber.

Janos seemed as frail and wounded as ever before, lost in the prison of his own mind and withered in both body and spirit. He lay in his new bed and did not move, only breathing in shallowly to the point where he looked almost like a corpse.

-0-

**_"After being thrown into the demon realm by the Sarafan Lord, Janos had been taken prisoner by the cruel high priest, Ishtar. There, in the clutches of his hated enemies, my sire was tormented for over two thousand years; all the while exposed to the warping effects of that terrible place. Damkina had promised restoration of both elements of my family. It was time to see if she could deliver on at least one of them."_**

-0-

The Serioli had been very gentle in their transfer of Janos to their fortified position and had treated him with a great deal of loving care. His sire had been cleaned and dressed in fresh clothes as he had wished, a modern garment made of white satin and reinforced black leather.

Tiamatu approached his bedside, placing her container down beside her and leaning over to examine the prone Vampire. She studied everything, observing the distortion of his muscles and skin, the discolouration of the feathers on his wings and the gaunt, hungered look he had despite having been fed by the Cabal.

"The damage is extensive, but does not appear to be beyond repair." She announced after a moment, looking back over her shoulder. "But I will require the necessary blood now."

Grimly Vorador approached and held out his arm to her without a word, watching her very closely. The blood she extracted from him with the use of a hollow needle was no loss at all although when she went to retrieve the sample from Janos, Vorador watched her like a hawk.

When the leader of the House of Knowledge had two glass vials with blood, she held them up the light to examine them closely. Then, humming to herself, she knelt to open her container and brought out some of the instruments from her laboratory. Without sufficient knowledge of the science and techniques she was employing, Vorador was at a loss to understand what she was doing precisely.

None of the Serioli knew either and the armed 'escort' crowed close to peer in. Tiamatu paused and looked up over her shoulder at him disapprovingly.

"I am trying to work here." She told them all flatly. Ansu, who had been peering in with the others despite his dignity, flushed up an ugly shade of mortification at this rebuke.

"One false move and I'll separate your head from your shoulders." He told her, one large hand on the hilt of his axe. Tiamatu stared him down for a long moment and then smiled.

"How endearing." She replied with immense sarcasm and then turned back to her work, leaving Ansu to stand there with eyes bulging in outrage.

"Forgive their enthusiasm." Ajatar remarked, coming up to lay a calming hand on her subordinate's shoulder. "All they've ever known of your kind is your being implacable enemies in a war."

"That was more than three thousand years ago." Tiamatu replied, still working with her instruments. She poured a small amount of the collected blood into a device and began running her finger over the controlling glyphs. The device churned audibly.

"Not for them." Ajatar said.

"It would seem that neither side is really willing to let go of the animosity." The Hylden woman stated and her tone was slightly melancholy.

"There's been too much blood spilt, atrocities committed and horrors inflicted for that. We've hurt each other too badly." The Grandmaster remarked in that same sad tone. Tiamatu paused in her work and looked back over her shoulder at Ajatar.

"Perhaps." She said and smiled at her, a warm smile this time for the small flicker of hope there. Ajatar stared and then smiled herself.

"Ansu, if you please?" She then said, pulling on her lieutenant's shoulder and compelling him to follow her. "I have some things to tell you, in private." Despite Ansu's outrage and unwillingness to leave the Hylden unwatched he was eventually removed from the chamber.

Vorador kept his eyes on Janos, wondering privately to himself just what he was going to do if this actually worked. If this procedure was successful and Janos was restored, it would be unlikely that he would approve of this so-called ceasefire with their supposed eternal enemy. Vorador was not certain if he would be able to talk his sire into accepting the merits of such an arrangement.

It was then that he noticed he was not the only one looking directly at Janos. Off to one side, the Seer was staring at the unconscious Vampire. Her expression and stance were deceptively neutral, for Vorador knew the true emotions beneath her facade and the telltale signs that gave them away.

"Even the sight of him makes my blood boil in my veins." She admitted in a soft and quiet voice as he came up beside her. Her eyes were locked on Janos' face and she wasn't blinking. "I am sorry Vorador... but I will not deny it. I despise Janos more then you could ever imagine. How could I otherwise, after what he did to me?"

She did nothing characteristic of the enraged, such as ball her fists or clench her teeth, but rather was calm, controlled and quiet. That made her rage all the more intense somehow.

"Then why do you offer to restore him?" He asked quietly back so as to not draw attention to their conversation.

"Because it's necessary." She said. She had used that excuse before for her actions, but this time there was an edge of bitter resentment in her voice. "If it were left down to me I would leave Janos Audron to a fate a thousand times worse than this catatonia and enjoy every second of his suffering."

Vorador looked at her sidelong.

"Eons have passed since that event." He reminded her. The Seer gently shook her head.

"No amount of time erases that sort of scar." She said and her voice caught a little in her throat. She had to swallow before continuing. "The Eternal Prison was in many ways worse than the demon realm." Then she turned her head to return his look.

"Do not ever ask me to forgive him." She said. Vorador held her gaze and then folded his arms behind his back.

"And yet you were asking your own people to forgive mine?" He asked and at this the Seer flushed, visibly struck by the comparison. Resentment for his words filled her eyes. "Perhaps, Damkina, you might consider your own position before advising others." He told her as he turned away, smiling slightly at her consternation. "You might seem less of a hypocrite that way."

Tiamatu straightened from her strange work and turned to face them, an annoyed frown marring her face.

"This will take longer than originally predicted." She admitted with reluctance. Vorador turned sharply to look at her.

"What is the hindrance?" He asked sternly.

"As I suspected, a Vampire's different composition makes affecting the necessary changes a greater challenge for the process." She said and lifted up the blue glyph prod that she had brought with her, running a finger over its useful end. "Adjustments to the treatment and the equipment will take several days."

That was not what Vorador wanted to hear and his expression showed it, his eyebrows lowered and both ears erect on either side of his head.

"And then he will be restored?" He asked with an angry overtone to his voice. Tiamatu shrugged.

"He will be relatively coherent and much of his fair physical form recovered." She replied, completely ignoring his vehemence with perfect ease. "I can say no more than that."

Vorador silently fumed about this restrictive setback. However, there was very little he could do about it. If the process took days then it would just have to take days. He did have, he supposed, a surplus of time to spend.

"So be it, then." He remarked with contempt and turned to look at the stained glass window while Tiamatu went back to making the lengthy adjustments to her equipment and devices. He didn't know why he thought looking at it would help calm him down. Seeing Kain armed with the perfect sword he himself had forged only made him more irritable.

"Are you satisfied now?" The Seer asked him from behind, still sounding sore and annoyed from his rebuke. That tone served to fuel his annoyance.

"No." He replied flatly. He turned his head to look back at her over his shoulder. "Janos still lies there lost in madness. I will count myself content only when I can hold an intelligible conversation with him." Then he turned his head away, lips drawn down in a deep, annoyed frown. "And thus far you have said nothing about Umah."

The Seer regarded him with some asperity and then began to walk around his side so that he had no choice but to look at her.

"You expect me to reward you entirely in advance?" She asked mockingly. Vorador purposely did not look directly at her, keeping his expression firm and his eyes on the window. "No, no, Vorador." She wagged a finger at him. "Janos is simply my 'good faith' payment." When he refused to acknowledge her presence she angrily stepped forward and dropped her voice into a harsh whisper

"If you ever want to see your precious adopted daughter live once more, you'll have to do a little something for me." She said.

"Was saving you from your incarceration in the Eternal Prison not enough?" He asked with heavy contempt, still not looking at her.

The Seer snorted and tossed her head back, her eyes rolling.

"That debt expired centuries ago and you have more than used up my natural gratitude." She informed him with scorn. Her eyes flicked back to him in a look of peeved disapproval. "Don't push it, Vorador."

The Vampire was silent for a long moment, his eyes fixed firmly on the window. On the image of the Reaver, rather than its wielder.

"What assurance do I have you can even do as you claim?" He asked then, his voice betraying that faint flicker of hope that he had done his best to conceal so deep inside himself. "Revive her after being long dead for eons?"

The Seer chuckled once in the depths of her throat and placed her hands on her hips. Her attitude was one of smug superiority.

"There is just one real question that has any merit." She said and her own vehemence seemed to have been overtaken by her natural cockiness. "One you need to ask only yourself." She smiled just enough to part her lips. "How much do you want it?"

With that, Vorador knew she had won the combative discussion. His resentment and anger for her machinations flared for one single instant and then faded, dropping away in defeat into a grim and indifferent resignation.

"You already know the answer, or you wouldn't have asked." He said in a mild rebuke. He took a deep breath and then sighed. "Very well, what is your price?"

The Seer's smile widened in her triumph. She raised her hands and pressed them together in front of her chest, fingertip to fingertip. She almost seemed to glow in her victory and Vorador supremely wished she would stop milking it.

"There is a relic that I need found." She began in a sweet voice. "It is utterly vital that this construction be uncovered, its location made known."

At this he did finally turn to look at her directly.

"You want me to go on a treasure hunt?" He asked with some resentment. Surely this had to be some perverse joke.

"It is an artefact older than even the ancient war." She told him and this time her tone was deadly serious. "Older then the Wheel of Fate religion." The Hylden woman spread her arms out sharply. "Older then either the Vampires or the Hylden and mightier than both of them combined." She paused then, as if for deliberate dramatic effect. "It's part of a legacy, a heritage that all the races of Nosgoth share." She looked at him sidelong and her gaze was fraught with iron and ice both.

"I need you to uncover the Celestial Arrow."


	5. 4 Kain's Armoury

"The Celestial...what?" Ajatar asked, raising an eyebrow with a confused and partly stunned look of surprise and scepticism on her face.

"Arrow." Vorador repeated with a wry grin of amusement at her surprise. He was standing off to one side in the chamber the Grandmaster of the Serioli had taken for herself, a smaller and more functional room than the suite Janos enjoyed. The chamber entrance had been marked with the double curving, fang-like symbol of the Zephonim, suggesting that perhaps this had been a room created for Zephon's convenience during official state visits.

It was quite large enough to be considered spacey but it wasn't as luxuriously furnished, with plainer decorations and a more threadbare carpet. This room, however, had the advantage of a natural refracted light, coming in through a vein of quartz crystal that ran through the rock of the ceiling directly up to the outside cliff. The subdued sunlight was filtered down through it and then suffused the chamber with a pale, natural illumination.

Ajatar had settled in well to this room, sitting on the edge of the chamber's bed, which was more lengthy than wide. It was still large enough for her to have laid on it with her wings spread. Laid out across a table was another of the drapes holding Kain's imperial symbol. It was still in the process of being stitched and customised so if it was intended for Ajatar herself, she wanted to wait until it was utilitarian before she wore it. Personally the idea of his teacher wearing Kain's symbol made Vorador roll his eyes in disappointment for her choice.

Tiamatu was still busy with her work and her strange equipment and had flatly refused to explain to anyone who asked the science behind her tinkering. She had told them it was beyond their understanding and to mind their own business. This dismissive, cavalier attitude had not won her many admirers or friends amongst the Serioli, most of whom were already nervous and resentful at having any of her kind in their midst. Still, Ajatar had left very precise instructions on how their guests were to be treated. Her soldiers cared more about her command structure and good opinion, rather than the delicate politics of a ceasefire.

Upon being informed of the ceasefire, Warrior Ansu had immediately sent out scouts to keep an eye on the borders of the Hylden nation. While a ceasefire might be acoveted and desirable outcome of such a long conflict, he was not stupid enough to simply take the Hylden at their word. If the promise of an end to the conflict proved false, they would be ready and prepared for it. Vorador had been able to get him to agree to inform the Cabal Vampires of any military action.

With no other recourse but to wait the several days it would take to see Janos' body and mind restored, Vorador found himself seeking the advice of his old teacher.

The Grandmaster of the Serioli sat there in perplexity, clearly left surprised and at a loss for words as to the request the Seer had made.

"And just what is that supposed to be?" Ajatar asked him after a long moment, with almost comical bewilderment at the conundrum. Vorador shrugged one shoulder and then folded his arms in the small of his back, turning around to face her.

"I haven't the faintest idea." He admitted dryly and with a half smile. "But I wasn't about to admit that in front of her."

It would have been the height of embarrassment for him to have confessed ignorance on the subject, yet it was entirely possible that the Seer had already known of his lack of knowledge and had purposely let his pride carry him through the motions of pretending to know. All so she could enjoy watching him squirm. That would have been like her.

Still, he wondered at her motives for such a request of him. While he wanted what she promised him quite intensely, he was not so foolish as to let himself be directed around a labyrinth of deceit, manipulated to no purpose. He had heard the story of the events Raziel had told him and throughout them all had been the clear trace of sinister misdirection by one party or another. Vorador was quite determined not to let himself be drawn into such a tangled web, regardless of any tantalising incentive.

"So she wants you to find an artefact you have never heard of and in a place you've never been." Ajatar more stated thanasked, pushing out her left wing and stretching it wide to the edges of its full span before resettling it.

"Essentially." Vorador replied with a sharp nod and then tilted his head to one side with a wry expression. "I was hoping you could enlighten me." Ajatar slumped her shoulders with a partly exasperated sigh.

"I have never heard of such a thing." She said tartly, almost resentfully. Vorador raised an eyebrow and adopted an expression of mock surprise.

"The Serioli...ignorant of lore?" He asked with affected surprise. "I had thought the Order preserved knowledge, regardless of its source or antiquity."

Ajatar snorted through her nose and then leaned back against the large puffy pillows, tucking her wings to her shoulders so she could lie back without them being in the way.

"The ancient war with the Hylden lasted for a thousand years, an entire eon." She told him exasperatedly. "The beginning of that conflict was long before I was even born. I grew up in a culture under constant threat of the next battle."

Then she paused, her eyes going distant and hazy as if she were not entirely in the present at that moment, perhaps lost in her memories of that awful conflict. Vorador could only imagine, from the stories his sire had once told, the near apocalyptic struggle. The flicker of suppressed trauma came and went in a seeming flash and then she was back to her animated self, blinking to clear her mind of such thoughts.

"If such an artefact from before the war did exist, knowledge of it was lost in the misty, forgotten eons of the past." She said quickly as if to cover up her lapse. "For all we know, she simply made this artefact up."

Vorador grunted in distaste.

"I doubt it, or why ask me to find it at all?" He concluded. "She is not some errant prankster to send me on a goose chase."

"She will have some ulterior motive." The Grandmaster warned him seriously.

"Of course she does." He replied. He didn't really need warning on that score. Obviously the Seer had a far greater purpose in mind for him and finding this supposed Arrow for her was only a part of a larger whole.

"And simply wanting it found?" Ajatar continued, frowning deeply. "Why just found? Why not have it brought back to her?" Vorador had wondered about that himself. The Seer had been very careful in her use of words. She had said that all she wanted was the artefact found. She had said nothing about retrieving the item.

"Yet another question her request raises." He concluded with a sour tone. "Even if we knew what it was she wanted in the first place."

Ajatar pulled one leg up onto the bed and let the other dangle over the side in a lazy stance, her arms resting on her stomach.

"But perhaps we know this artefact she wants by another name?" She volunteered, looking up at the ceiling.

"Do you know of any lore from before the war that might point to a similar object?" Vorador asked, but she frowned and shook her head.

"Before the war started, our people's spiritual identity was overtaken by the preponderance of the Wheel of Fate, spearheaded by the prophet Raziel-Divus." She told him. "During that religious surge, much of the earlier culture was decreed heresy and an affront to the purity of our people's spirituality." Her expression became flat and decidedly unfriendly, her voice crisp with an undercurrent of indignation. The Serioli were the sole exception to the ancient Vampires' total adherence to the tenants and doctrine of the Wheel of Fate. "Anything offensive to the Divus and their supposed Oracle God was almost all destroyed and cast away."

Vorador tilted his head to one side in a half amused look.

"Except for the Serioli and the elemental forging lore they protect?" He asked rhetorically. Ajatar let out a short back of amused laughter and leaned her head back against her pillow.

"No, not us." She side with mirth for the thought. "They didn't quite have the militant conviction necessary to do away with our Order."

She held up one talon and used her knowledge of the elemental control to call forth the principles of Conflict and Nature, merging them together over her open palm. Combined they burst forth into a glowing orb of summoned fire.

"Despite our adherence to the elemental studies of old which were in defiance of the Wheel of Fate's religious monopoly, they needed our skills at forging and battle for the war. They couldn't afford to renounce us." She flipped the orb of fire between her talons as if she were playing with a discarded flower petal. She flicked it up with her thumb and then caught it again like a ball. "They had to tolerate the '**_Heretic Army'_**." She said it with some amusement, for the Serioli had taken the label as a mark of distinction and now proudly referred to themselves as the Heretic Army.

The Grandmaster looked into the glowing orb in her hand for a long moment and then slowly her expression changed, her eyebrows coming together in a puzzled frown. Vorador could see the memories and thoughts coming together in her mind.

"And while I know of no 'Arrow'..." She began slowly, clenching her talons so that the fire went out with a small puff of smoke. "Now that my mind has been stirred, there was something..." Then she was silent again.

"What?" Vorador prompted her as the silence dragged on. Ajatar remained silent despite this, as if she were collecting all she could from her memories on whatever she was going to say before she voiced it.

"Just after the end of the war and the casting of the Dark Gift curse, many of our people despaired at such a fate." She began after that moment had passed. "Many destroyed themselves in their mental agony."

Vorador knew this, of course. He had been there in the Citadel itself for some time and had seen firsthand when the devout began killing themselves one after the other, often in large groups in order to all ascend to the Wheel and be 'released' to the blessed realm together.

"But there was a self-appointed prophet who declared that he had been given a vision by one of the Divus and that in this vision a strange place had been revealed to him." Ajatar went on and Vorador's ears flicked up, his attention drawn. This was new to him.

"In this special blessed location, this supposed prophet claimed, there existed a cleansing Cistern and that the water poured through this mechanism could remove the curse from anyone who drank from it." Vorador blinked at this intelligence. A Vampire who tried to drink water of any kind would have been dissolved from the inside out. Ajatar caught the look and nodded in agreement, smiling at the stupidity.

"It was obvious hysterical fantasy to me but many a desperate Vampire believed him." She said and then looked at him directly. "Including your sire."

"Janos?" Vorador asked incredulously. He knew his sire to be as much a religious enthusiast as many others of his kind, but he had never been so much a fanatic that he would let his beliefs override his basic commonsense.

"He was the most adamant about trying to find a 'cure' rather than just committing suicide." Ajatar explained. "This so-called vision fired his imagination, so much so that he assisted the grubby prophet in organising an expedition into the distant east, where the vision supposedly told them to search."

Vorador frowned and uncrossed his arms, reaching up to rub a talon against the underside of his chin in thought.

"My sire never told me of this." He admitted perplexedly.

"Did he need to tell you?" Ajatar asked him with a raised eyebrow. "I would have thought you knew of that expedition already." Vorador looked at her with an openly confused expression.

"Why would you say that?" He asked her.

"Janos accompanied the expedition to the east." The Grandmaster went on. "But he had to return to the Citadel when he found a human boy starving to death on the shores of a sulphur lake. The others went on without him." Their eyes met. "You were that boy, Vorador." She told him.

Vorador stood there with his lips parted slightly in his surprise. He turned his head slowly from side to side as he tried to dig deep in his memory, rummaging around for any sort of detail that would either confirm or deny her claim.

"I remember nothing of that." He admitted grimly after he found the attempt inconclusive in either direction.

-0-

**_"My recall of the past several centuries and even eons was quite acute. I could recall with precision the rise of Kain's empire, the resistance struggle against the Sarafan Order, the butchery of Moebius' genocidal crusade, my vengeance on the Circle of Nine for their support of the old genocide and the murder of my sire, the fall of the ancient Citadel... and only then does my memory start to become clouded. My earliest memory is of a training exercise in the halls of the old Serioli fort, learning the art of elemental control in the forge. Anything before that was an impenetrable mist." _**

-0-

How exactly he had first met Janos, in the depths of his human childhood, was so faded by time that he could literally remember nothing of it. As far as he had known he had always been a ward in Janos' service in one form or another. Janos had been his father figure for so long that the mere idea of a time in his life where this was not so was an alien concept.

He tried to imagine it. So he had been discovered by a sulphur lake, a hostile environment with white-hot geysers spewing up all around. What had he, as a young human boy, supposedly been doing in such a place?

"I recall the event now because the Vampire who commissioned the shield, forged from the Eclipse-ka, also left on that expedition." Ajatar continued, referring to that strange lunar metal native to the demon realm, the mineral that Enlil's terrible spear, Gáe Bolga, had been forged from. Vorador recalled briefly she had said she had made a shield from the rare ore. "But only Janos ever returned. The others were never heard from again. No one went after them and the prophet was denounced as a heretic and a loon and his predictions discarded."

Then she threw both legs over the side of the bed, sitting up sharply.

"I don't know if what they sought was indeed this 'Arrow' that the Seer desires you to find or whether the two are completely unrelated, but perhaps **it** may be." She said, but Vorador did not think this would be likely. It would have been too much of a coincidence, even if it weren't the only clue at his disposal.

"Although if this is indeed the case, I have no idea where you should start your search." Ajatar warned him and Vorador concluded that he was not going to have any more luck with her store of knowledge.

-0-

**_"I was no fool to stupidly think that all the Seer wanted from me was the retrieval of some forgotten artefact. I had known her too long to be so easily led around. There was more to this than she was going to say. I was also quite firmly convinced that I was not the only one she was attempting to manipulate. Both Raziel and Kain had encountered her and no doubt were somewhere out there even now, doing her bidding without realising it. I was loath to join them." _**

-0-

He hadn't known exactly where the blue skeletal ghoul who called himself Raziel had gone after they had retrieved Janos from the Ziggurat, but he had noticed that the Nexus Stone they had also recovered had disappeared at the same time. He had been sure that was no coincidence and he had also been sure that the Seer had been involved in some way. Only when Ajatar announced the potential for Kain's return did he understand finally that Raziel had gone to fetch Kain from 'beyond the rim of time', whatever that meant.

Were those two not enough for her schemes? Surely Kain, the fabled and grandiosely self-proclaimed Scion of Balance and Raziel, a saviour to all and none, were sufficient to handle any task she might need fulfilled. What use was he to her now?

If he were wise, he knew he should simply turn about and go back to his castle on the distant archipelago. The Cabal would have need of him, even if he was loath to stand over them like an ever-present, doting parent to tend to their every hurt. They would never grow into an independent culture and people in their own right with him there to be constantly relied upon. Even when he had gone to enforced slumber for centuries they had opted to sleep as well, leaving only one of them to stay on watch like a sentry.

Perhaps, then, he could find some purpose for himself amongst the Serioli. He had, after all, once been a member of their order, although so long ago that the kinship had lost its meaning for him. If he were to remain here with them he would very easily find himself lost in ancient nostalgia. Already the Serioli were attempting to create a large elemental forge in the main hall of this stronghold. Their diligent efforts were being rewarded as the main furnace took form, fashioned by a large metallic drum they had beaten into shape.

There were any number of things Vorador could be doing and probably should as he knew better of himself, the Seer and the world itself.

-0-

**_"And yet, her promise to restore my loved ones was a dagger twisting inside my heart. If the Hylden succeeded, Janos would be raised from his mental captivity and the first half of her promise would be fulfilled. But did I think she was even capable of performing the other half, restoring life to Umah who had been long dead for eons? I didn't know, but temptation gnawed at me."_**

-0-

Vorador found himself wandering somewhat aimlessly through the corridors of Kain's stronghold, his mind on other things and hardly even noticing those around him. So much had happened already in such a short time and so many questions had been raised. That strange creature and its bones of elemental power, that Tiamatu had claimed to be the source of the Dark Gift curse, raised many questions on their own that intrigued him despite his own attempt at maintaining a professional, dispassionate reserve. What was it and where had it come from? What was this Celestial Arrow that the Seer seemed to think was so vital to her long-term plans, what did it do, where in Nosgoth was it hidden and why was she so vehement about its uncovering?

Too many questions and not enough answers. He supposed that he was going to have to swallow his pride and simply ask the Seer what she was talking about. As embarrassing as it was it might just be the only option available to him.

As much as he detested himself for acknowledging it, even to himself, the Seer was right. To see Umah and Janos, his father and daughter restored he would do anything. Admitting that left him feeling depressed and disgusted with himself.

Apep, one of the Serioli's best warriors and a disciple in the elemental control of Air, came out of a side corridor. He was a tall individual with wings that were missing large patches of feathers. He had a curving sword strapped to one side. When he saw Vorador coming, he stopped to wait, his expression flat and disapproving.

Vorador frowned. Even when he had been an official member of their Order he had never gotten along well with Apep. He had been distrustful of humans and scornful of the newly created hybrids that Janos Audron had passed on the Dark Gift to. He had some notions of racial superiority that put him at odds with the newer Vampiric generations. This one had often, during the training of the new generation, made insulting, derogatory remarks about the wholesomeness, cleanliness and general nature of those hybrids.

"And here he is! The great patriarch, who took after the role of his sire and fathered a new race of Vampire hybrids." He announced harshly and mockingly as Vorador drew near. "So, has being lord and master of some rocky crag in the middle of the sea become tiresome? You need to come back and pester us?"

"Petty insults do you no credit." Vorador replied tartly and made to barge past him, but Apep reached out and caught his shoulder in one hand. His grip was unnecessarily tight.

"Not one step further, Vorador." He said and his voice was fierce. "Not until you answer a few questions."

Vorador half turned to look back over his shoulder, his eyes frosty.

"Just where were you and the other cowardly hybrids when our fort was under attack?" Apep demanded in a low voice that was almost a growl. "We had to fight off that upstart Moebius' stinking human army on our own. You'd all run off to save your own skins, hadn't you?"

Vorador did not dignify that implied insult and accusation with a response. The second generation Vampires, turned by Janos in an effort to preserve their bloodline, had been ordered to leave the fort before it had come under direct attack. Vorador himself had been under orders from Ajatar herself to conceal one of the four tablets of Dark Fable. He had done so and then escaped with whatever he could salvage before the main attack. But he was not going to try to explain that to anyone who thought him a coward, especially not this illiberal fool.

"Take your hand off of me." He told Apep deliberately slowly and with an undercurrent of ice to his voice. Vorador did not need to physically threaten violence in order to seem intimidating. His manner and tone had been perfected over centuries so that when he wanted, he could unnerve even a fledgling Vampire in a blood rage with a mere glance.

There was a very tense, silent moment between them and then with a snort Apep released his grip and took a few steps backward, glaring as if to cover his own unease. "And don't ever accuse me of pusillanimity again." Vorador said as a final parting remark and then carried on, leaving Apep standing there balefully glaring after him. Probably trying to figure out what 'pusillanimity' actually meant.

Now even more irritated that such a backwards attitude had survived into this far slung future as well as the worthiness of Serioli scepticism, Vorador sought for himself some privacy so that he could think without interruption or distraction and take some time to gather himself. Eventually he found a room that none of the Serioli were presently using, probably because it had no real practical purpose and the Serioli were very practical-minded.

The chamber seemed to be a meeting hall for any visiting clan leaders with large, golden throne-like chairs placed around a round metallic table. At the head of the table was a larger throne, carved and sculpted to resemble the imperial bat icon. Each of the clan symbols was carved into the table where the other seats were placed, in order of their overall importance and prestige. The Razielim clan symbol was near the head of the table and the Melchahim was near the end. A few drapes with the clan banners hung from spots high on the walls, dulled by neglect so that the icons were barely visible anymore.

The Serioli had not even bothered to renovate this room as they had many others to choose from which were far more useful to them. As such the room had remained as the imperial upper class had left it, preserved from the time of its last official usage.

Somewhat whimsically, Vorador strode up the table and sat in the throne intended for the so-called ruler of Nosgoth. For an indulgent moment he contemplated what it would be like to be in such a position of supreme authority. Even the fantasy had an admittedly pleasant glow to it. No wonder a materialistic and dominating soul like Kain's had been so enwrapped with this concept.

Vorador supposed that he himself might have been obsessed with power in his younger days as well, although he had kept his ambition to ruling his own private domain hidden in the depths of the Termagant forest. That had been more than sufficient to satisfy his desire for a kingdom. Kain had taken the idea entirely too far. A world ruled by Vampires? He might as well have advocated a world of sheep under the command of a wolf.

Sighing, Vorador leaned back in the chair and as he did so, his talons curled around the underside of the armrest. There he felt a strange protruding switch that was just hidden from view in between the decorative carvings. Frowning, the Vampire felt around it experimentally. It was set into the chair itself and seemed to be connected to a mechanism hidden within.

Puzzled by this, Vorador purposely flipped the small switch. There was a dull 'thunk' from within the chair and the vibrating sensation of gears beginning to turn. Vorador looked about him in surprise as with regular precision, hidden compartments in the walls began opening one by one. Behind each one was a mesh of clockwork and gears that began churning, spewing out dust from between their neglected gaps. The entire room seemed to have been artfully built to conceal this complex mechanism.

Then there was the loud grating of stone on stone from directly behind him. Vorador sprang up from the chair and spun about in surprise, watching as a section of the wall began to slide backward. Then it parted in the middle and became the entranceway to a dark passageway.

Vorador stared at it a moment in silent stillness and then began to approach. As he neared, orbs set in the walls just inside began to glow with a pale light, revealing that a short distance into the exposed tunnel was a flight of smooth steps leading up.

"Well, well, Kain." Vorador muttered to himself with a raised eyebrow, tapping the end of his chin with a talon. "Just what have you decided to hide in here?" This intrigued Vorador quite a bit. Kain was not the sort of person to conceal things lightly, not without a good reason. He usually preferred to have his achievements out in full display for all to see.

Pleased to have a pleasant distraction, Vorador began inside the passage and then up the stairs. There were more orbs set in the walls that began to glow as he approached, lighting the way for him as he progressed. The stairs went on for quite some distance, twisting and turning around natural fissures and ore deposits in the rock the fortress was hollowed out from. He more than once had to step over a crack that had appeared in the stairs, a clear indication that this place had not seen maintenance for at least a century.

After quite some time he came to a large metal door set at the end of the stairs. By now he had been so twisted around that he had mostly lost his sense of direction and location. This position could be anywhere in relation to the rest of the stronghold. The door before him was bolted with three bars across the top, middle and bottom and there was a large lock off to one side.

Vorador unbolted each of the bars one after the other, sliding them back despite the stiffness of each mechanism. As for the lock, the Vampire simply drew himself back and then thrust out his hand. The unleashed burst of force shattered the lock into a dozen metallic pieces and the door crashed open.

The chamber beyond was cavernous and pitch black. But he could see much better in the dark then an average human or even an average Vampire and stepped inside, looking around and smelling the stale air. This place had not been disturbed in some time. The room seemed rather plain and utilitarian when compared to the rest of the fortress and seemed to lack even a single clan symbol to mark it as had been the custom elsewhere.

Then as he continued further into the room, another orb began to glow. This one was set in the vaulted ceiling overhead and was far larger, emitting much more light. Gradually the light increased and Vorador found himself looking around at a very strange collection.

The chamber was full of stands and display cases, dozens of them all perfectly lined up in neat rows and all hidden beneath a thick layer of concealing dust. He walked over to one of the stands and brushed away the dust with the back of one hand. Beneath the glass, laid out on a soft cushion was a single one-handed sword.

Vorador lifted the glass lid and reached inside, lifting out the blade and holding it close to consider it with the eye of a professional blacksmith. The weapon was clearly of human make and forged from commonplace iron but there were traces of elemental control over it, albeit with a clearly reduced skill. This sword could very likely have been made by the eventual successors of the Ancient Serioli arts, a few chosen humans who had tried to keep the art alive.

In the next stand was another weapon, although this one made out of proper steel. It was a large spiked mace about the length of his forearm, which had clearly seen some frequent use as some of its spikes were dented and dulled.

Directly opposite was a tall glass cabinet with a leather mannequin inside, stuffed to stay upright and in a clear battle stance. Draped over it was a very strange set of black armour and when he saw it, Vorador knew it immediately. Kain himself had worn that very armour when he had first come to him in a quest to find a means of besting the Circle of Nine. Now Vorador understood what this chamber actually was.

-0-

**_"This sealed room I saw was a secret display chamber. An armoury, where Kain had lovingly kept all the artefacts, weapons and armour he had claimed over the centuries. While his growing powers had made relying on such trinkets unnecessary, he had preserved the items for their service in this museum to his own vanity." _**

-0-

This place was little more than Kain's private collection, his trophy room and treasure cave. As Vorador went on he found more and more of Kain's collected trinkets. There were artefacts from across Nosgoth's history kept here, all of them laid out on display. Many of them Vorador recognised. There were full sets of Sarafan armour from their fascist rule, along with their cruel weapons. There were sets of armour from earlier periods, such as the pure marble white armour that had once adorned the militia of the kingdom of Willendorf.

Various artefacts were also laid out in abundance, small magical trinkets that might have proven useful to a novice Vampire. Especially a curving, bladed throwing weapon placed out in rows of six, a vicious little weapon called a Flay. Vorador picked one up to examine it, holding it gingerly between his talons. Its four edges were as sharp as razorblades and if the weapon were thrown just right, it could cleave meat from bones.

Glancing to one side, Vorador blinked and then smiled, seeing an old friend. Set up on a mannequin was a set of plated red armour, riveted with many steel spikes and styled to look like many open demonic maws. He knew this armour well for he had forged it himself in his first elemental forge, in the old workshop at the ancient Citadel. It was the Chaos armour, a raiment of some power, enchanted so that any wound inflicted on its wearer would also be dealt to the attacker. He had wondered where this armour had been displaced, but with events in Nosgoth as they had been at the time, he had had more pressing concerns to deal with. He was glad someone had found use for the armour, even if it had been Kain.

Coming to the next set of displayed trinkets, Vorador pulled his lips back in a sneer of disgust. He had no idea where in all of Nosgoth Kain had come across such an item, but the armour on display here was formed of flesh. It was a disgusting combination of muscle, veins and sinew magically held together in the most hideous way. While it was abstractly a work of genius to create such a thing, it was also the product of a clearly disturbed mind. Whatever magic had created it still had to be very strong for the flesh not to have decayed even after all these centuries.

Vorador turned resolutely away from it. As he did so he turned to face another cabinet and saw what lay inside. Two weapons, both of them totally identical so that they appearedto be mirror images of one another. They were double bladed war axes, each with a long handle to give the weapons a wide range.

Once again Vorador recognised a trinket in Kain's little treasure vault.

-0-

**_"Ah yes, I remembered these two well enough. Havoc and Malice, twin axe blades forged by my own hand in the elemental style of Earth. I had given them to a favoured disciple of my siring, but he had been killed by the Sarafan and the axes were taken as trophies by Malek himself." _**

-0-

The axes were made from ordinary steel but reinforced with Serioli arts and had been two of his best forging achievements while he had taken up residence in the Forest. Even eons later, the twin axes were free of any sort of blemish and looked as new as the day they had been formed. Vorador looked down at the weapons for a long moment, lost in the memories of long ago that they invoked, the nostalgia like a gaping vortex that had opened up before him.

Then, on a sudden surge of impulsive decision, he pulled their case open and took them out, hefting them high and testing their weight and balance. Malek may have stolen these weapons, but fate had delivered them back to their rightful owner.

Clearly that was a sign. A sign of what, Vorador did not know, but it was a sign nonetheless.

-0-

**_"I doubt Kain would mind if I took them. They were, after all, mine to begin with." _**

-0-


	6. 5 Trust

Ansu held up Havoc to the light, turning it around in his grip as he studied the weapon. He pressed his thumb-talon against the edge to test it and grunted, partly in pain and partly in satisfaction as theblade bit into his skin without much effort. He drew the axe up and peered closely at it, his reflection concave in the shining metal. He was not really looking at himself but rather sensing the traces of the elements used in the forging of the weapon.

"A variation on the Serioli design, common metals but augmented with elemental earth." He commented, coming to the right conclusion without Vorador having to explain. Then he held the weapon out at the end of his arm and swung it back and forth, each time with increasing force and speed. "Double bladed and balanced to allow for maximum impact on each swing." He added, nodding in approval. He paused to send the axe spinning up into the air and then nimbly caught it again on its descent. Then he looked over at Havoc's sister axe, Malice, which was still in Vorador's grasp, and he frowned.

"But with both hands occupied, this leaves no opportunity for a defensive manoeuvre or magic of any kind." He added in eventual critique. "These are purely offensive weapons." He swung his arm up and tossed the axe at the other Vampire. Vorador caught it swiftly out of the air and lifted it up to match Malice in his other hand, the two axes held perfectly balanced in his grasp.

Marrow, his favoured sword, was still in its place at his side but he had quickly improvised a strap across his torso to hold the two axes as well. While Kain might be content to only carry the Reaver, Vorador knew that one could never have an unnecessary surplus of useful tools. Havoc and Malice were powerful weapons he was familiar with and such items were worth their weight in gold.

The two Vampires were standing in an open courtyard that was formed by a circle of battlements outside the fortress. From this vantage point, Nosgoth's uninhabited western range of mountains was visible. Somewhere amongst those peaks the original Serioli stronghold had once stood, reduced to rubble centuries ago during the Human uprising against the Ancient Vampire dominion. Perhaps the Serioli liked this new fortress as it reminded them of their own time and had a familiar, albeit far less picturesque**,** panorama.

"Offence is the best defence." Vorador remarked firmly and with conviction. He relaxed his stance so that the two axes hung at the ready by his sides. "Never wait for your enemy to come to you. Strike him down hard and fast."

Ansu tilted his head to one side and managed an amused smile at the statement.

"Sound advice coming from a novice." He said with a partly condescending tone of voice. Vorador gave him a flat, unfriendly look.

"I was a novice eons ago, Ansu." He said, reminded of the many hours as a human youth and then as a fledgling Vampire he had spent in training sessions, learning from Ansu as his master the combat techniques employed by both the Serioli and the mainstream Vampire army. Perversely, Vorador had actually enjoyed these sessions during his youth, as they had been the most exciting and engaging activity. He looked back on them now, with a matured outlook, and cringed. It had been Ajatar who had taught him how to harness and control the elements, but it had been Ansu who had taught him how to fight.

He fixed his former trainer with a steely gaze. "By now my skill has vastly outstripped yours." He added, just to put him on notice of the fact.

Ansu snorted derisively and folded his arms over his well-developed chest, a supercilious expression on his face.

"Perhaps." He said loftily, half-condescendingly but with an edge of humour. "But let us not forgot you spent several centuries in slumber. Your body will be somewhat stiff and your skills dulled."

Vorador grunted. He fervently wished that news of that now rather embarrassing mental slip of his had not filtered back to the Serioli. It was the height of mortification to have his teachers and trainers perceive him as weak for any reason. And also Ansu's statement was not without merit. He had indeed been quite weakened from his long slumber when he had first been reawakened by the interference of the blue skeleton.

Much strength, agility and endurance had returned to him but quite a lot of his magical and telekinetic skills had dimmed. They would probably return in time, over the next century or two, but for the moment he was reduced to mere physical prowess.

"My skills were enough to handle the leader of the House of War." He said with some petulance that even coming out of his mouth he did not like. He shut his lips tightly over that statement, ashamed of himself for sounding like some errant schoolboy making excuses for his calculus not being up to scratch.

Laughing at his former student's clear discomfort, Ansu unfolded his arms and then reached for the massive curving axe at his side.

"Let us see which is superior." He ventured, almost casually. "You and your axes..." He drew the huge weapon and its cruel edge gleamed, even in the faint sunlight. "...or me and mine?"

Vorador watched him for a moment and then sank into the traditional Serioli fighting stance; his back straight, legs apart and arms tense, one forward and one back. He held the handle of each axe very loosely, his wrists relaxed and able to swing in any direction at a moment's notice. Marrow was still at his side as well, ready for use if the axes' superiority proved false.

Ansu's own war axe was a large, two-handed weapon with a curving edge that ended in a serrated point. It was meant for hacking through flesh and bone, ripping and tearing through any material it came into contact with. It was more of a surgeon's tool gotten out of hand than a weapon with any finesse.

Vorador began to sidestep, keeping his front facing Ansu as the Ancient Vampire moved as well, the two of them circling one another around the axis of the courtyard. Ansu was wearing a confident smile, seemingly smug in the memory of his superiority over the student Vorador had once been eons ago. For him, not that much time had passed. For Vorador, it had been countless centuries since those dimly remembered days. Much had changed.

Ansu rushed forward to begin their contest, his axe held low and drawn back for a swinging chop at the mid-section. Vorador watched him approach, sliding his left foot back in anticipation. When the Ancient Vampire was close enough he swung his heavy axe around in an arch.

Vorador sidestepped out of range of the swing, the blade passing mere inches from him and then pivoted back swiftly, lashing out with Malice. The smaller yet faster weapon came down and glanced off the larger one. A shower of glowing sparks from metal colliding with metal showered the ground between them.

Vorador darted in close as Ansu's axe was deflected wide and out of the way, his body beginning to spin with the two axes whirling around in twin deadly paths. The axes were meant to be used this way for when both of them were employed, their weight and momentum enabled the user to spin like a swirling wind, cutting down anything in their path.

Ansu was not foolish enough to attempt to meet those spinning blades head-on, so instead he ducked low, flattening his wings against his body and sliding under the spin of the axes. He lashed out with his leg and knocked Vorador's feet out from under him. Vorador stumbled only for a moment, coming out of the deadly spin and dancing backwards out of reach as Ansu swung his own axe up, trying to take advantage of the moment.

Vorador frowned, seeing the flaw in the intended use of the axes. That spinning technique was useful only when fighting large groups of enemies, when surrounded by adversaries. When fighting an opponent one-on-one, it left the user open to being tripped up. He mentally berated himself for not anticipating that weakness when he had forged the axes in the first place.

Ansu laughed heartily at seeing the annoyed expression on Vorador's face and took a few steps back, widening the distance between them. He had always been sporting that way and gave his former trainee a moment to cover his confusion.

Vorador flipped Havoc in his hand and began to reconsider his approach. He supposed he could discard one of the axes or draw the more familiar Marrow, but he did not wish to do so. He had purposely given himself the handicap of an unfamiliar weapon in order to test himself and to train his body and mind in the efficient use of the axes.

Ansu's two-handed axe, while it took a bigger chunk out of its target, was heavy and cumbersome. It took real force in order to swing and during that swing Ansu was putting all his effort into it. In that brief time he was open to attack.

His mind began calculating ways and means to use that to his advantage as the two of them began circling one another again, the three axes held at the ready.

Vorador made his move, darting swiftly to the left and then sliding back to the right as Ansu began to shift his weight to face him from the former direction. With this momentary advantage, the Vampire brought Malice up sharply and its blade connected harshly against Ansu's axe, causing it to bounce upwards and away. With his swing counteracted, Ansu was left open with his arms wide up out of the way of his chest still holding the handle of his own weapon.

Vorador made his lunge and brought Havoc across, attempting to mark his opponent across the midsection. But Ansu's wings snapped open and he back-winged out of reach, moving with startling speed despite his bulk. With a flash he spun back in a tight spiral and lashed out with a foot, connecting sharply with Vorador's chest. The blow was stunning and Vorador gasped out in surprise as all the wind was driven out of his lungs. He staggered back, almost dropping the axes from his grip and then collapsed down to one knee. Ansu had certainly not employed that move against him as a student. That had been fast and accurate, slamming through his defences before he had even seen it coming.

Irritated now with his own stupidity, he realised the depths of the blunder he had made. Of course Ansu would be stronger than he remembered him being. He had been little more than an inexperienced student before, so of course Ansu had not displayed his full abilities to him.

The Ancient Vampire placed the end of his axe on the ground and crossed his arms over the hilt, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Come Vorador, you have had over three thousand years to practise while I skipped them over." He remarked, shaking his head in disapproval. "You ought to be capable of more than that."

Vorador glared up at him with a decidedly unfriendly expression and hoisted himself back up to his feet, breathing deeply to settle himself. Perhaps Ansu was right and his skills had dulled more than he had expected. Regardless, he was not going to make the same mistake twice. He hefted Havoc and Malice up as he re-adopted the fighting stance. Nodding in approval, Ansu did the same.

There was a pause and then the two of them flew at each other at the same time, charging simultaneously to meet one another. Vorador swung Havoc up but Ansu blocked the attack and then dodged to the side to avoid a downward lunge from Malice.

Vorador took the opportunity and slammed his shoulder into his former trainer, knocking him backwards a step. Leaving him no time to recover, he darted in close and then swung the axes around as fast as he could bring them.

Ansu swung backwards, ducking under the twin axe blades and then arched his back in one great effort to bring his own weapon around in a circle directly at Vorador's head. The Vampire leaned back sharply, the edge of the cruelly curved axe blade passing just over the tip of his nose. As it soared over him, he brought his body up in one fluid motion and kicked Ansu's arms with both feet in the wrists. The sudden intense acrobatics clearly startled Ansu and he snapped his wings open instinctively, spreading them out wide. In the darkness of the shadow they cast, Vorador leapt forward and struck Malice to one side, knocking Ansu's axe out of the way before leaping at the Ancient Vampire himself, slamming his knee into Ansu's stomach.

Ansu heaved and gasped at the blow but did not fall, pushing away with one hand to try and gain some fighting room and retaliate. He beat his wings hard several times, trying to fly backwards but Vorador had been waiting for that very movement. Ansu was too distracted now to keep his attention focused.

Vorador then purposely stepped on his opponent's foot, keeping him pinned to one spot just long enough for the tip of Havoc to draw a line across his exposed chest. Thick red blood oozed from the minor cut as the axe cleaved past. The injury was pathetically shallow, a superficial cut that a Vampire could heal within a few moments but it was still a very satisfying marking.

Ansu grunted and then slapped Vorador away from him with one wing, backing off and raising his hand to his chest. He looked down at the blood with a partly surprised expression on his face as though he did not quite believe he was seeing it. The original Ancient Vampires did not have the accelerated healing abilities of their human-born descendants, so cuts to them were more serious. Ansu considered the blood on his hand for a long silent moment, his face grim.

Then his face changed to become jovial and he began to laugh, a good-natured chortle that Vorador could not help but grin back at. Ansu was very rarely disconcerted about anything, unless it had to do with a military matter. He had lost that attitude during the Human uprising but it had resurged when he and the other Serioli had come forward to this time.

"Yes, yes, much better." He said with real satisfaction. "You drew first blood." He wiped his hand clean on the side of his trousers and then drew a talon across the small injury. There was a brief flicker as he used a small invocation of the water element to heal the mark. In a moment his cobalt skin was unmarked. He patted his chest to make sure of this and then heaved his large battleaxe up over one shoulder. "But let's keep at this a little bit longer, shall we?" He invited.

The two of them continued their contest and Vorador quickly confirmed his suspicion that Ansu had been holding back, at least at first, and then bit by bit was employing his skill as his estimation of Vorador's own abilities grew. Axe blades clashed over and over again and the two of them lost track of time as they sparred, testing one another in this contest.

Vorador was quick to learn and adapt techniques to better suit both himself and the weapons he employed, learning from experience quickly. Ansu observed this even as they duelled and his grin was one of happy approval.

Then for a moment, the two of them broke apart to recover their breath. Vorador was pleased to see Ansu was breathing hard and his skin was shining with a coat of sweat. Although he himself was somewhat winded too.

The Ancient Vampire cleared his throat and then leaned up, relaxing his muscles out of their tense battle stance.

"So, Ajatar tells me the 'Unspoken' have the bones of some terrible monster." He remarked casually to make conversation during their respite. Despite the debonair way in which he made the statement, there was a very slight edge to it that spoke volumes of his disapproval of the presence of both Tiamatu and the Seer.

"The Hylden, Ansu." Vorador corrected him with a firm tone, letting his arms hang by his sides with Havoc and Malice held at the ends of their hilts. "I think we should drop that 'Unspoken' nonsense right now."

As much as he was loath to admit it, Kain had been right about that at least. Declaring the entire Hylden species to be 'Unspoken' had simply let knowledge of any potential threat they posed be forgotten. That had been a stupid decision and Ba'al Zebur, the first Balance Guardian who had issued the edict, ought to have known better.

"And the dead creature is an entity the likes of which I have never seen before." He continued on to divert Ansu as his face darkened. "Its bones resonate with elemental power."

Distracted by this mystery, Ansu seemed to forget about the Hylden ladies for the moment as he folded his wings behind himself firmly and rested both hands on the hilt of his massive axe. He had a half-amused yet contemplative look on his face.

"Any theories?" He asked, almost jokingly. Vorador snorted and took a moment to flex one stiff shoulder, forcing the tensed muscle to relax.

"Only that I cannot understand how such a species could once have existed with neither the Hylden nor the Vampires being aware of it." He remarked in reply and, now that he had gotten his wind back, flipped the two axes up in his hands to stand ready.

Seeing him ready to fight again, Ansu nodded and picked up his own axe, adopting the fighting stance himself.

"Perhaps we simply forgot." The Ancient Vampire ventured and began to sidestep to the right, keeping his opponent facing him at all times. Vorador frowned as he did the same, Havoc held out before him with Malice drawn back past his shoulder.

"That thought is indubitably disheartening." He said, wondering how two mighty civilisations, with cultures outstripping the entire mundane norm, could simply forget about creatures as powerful as the resonance from that skeleton had suggested.

"No one is perfect." Ansu replied jovially and then darted forward, flapping his great wings once to give himself an extra boost of speed. Vorador back-stepped to avoid the slicing edge of his axe and then retaliated, swinging at his exposed flank with Malice. Ansu turned sharply in response, letting go of his axe with one hand and using that freed limb to knock Malice off course with a sharp blow from his wrist. The axe sailed over the top of his head, missing his skull by inches.

Vorador struck at him again with Havoc this time, aiming the weapon at the Ancient Vampire's legs. Ansu seemed to anticipate that and brought one foot up sharply. When Havoc came near enough, his talons came down on the blade of the axe and sent it crashing into the floor, raising up sparks. With no weapon to defend himself, Vorador looked up to see the massive golden war axe being raised high above his opponent's head, ready to come down right on top of him.

There was a brief moment before it came down when time itself seemed to slow to a crawl. To save himself, Vorador gave a quick leap and, twisting acrobatically in mid-air, landed both feet directly into Ansu's midsection.

The Ancient Vampire let out a startled grunt and staggered backwards several feet. He stumbled off balance and then fell, landing in an undignified manner onto his backside. The blow had been directly to his stomach and not only did it force all the air out of his lungs in one gust, but it actually forced him to drop his axe. The big golden weapon spun out of his slack grip and clattered across the stones a short distance away.

Vorador steadied himself on his own feet and looked over at Ansu, who was obviously the loser in this duel. The Ancient Vampire had a hand to his stomach and was struggling to regain his breath, his eyes slightly unfocused.

Then, after a moment, a wide, irrepressible grin spread across his face and he looked up at his former pupil with some pride in his eyes.

"Excellent!" He congratulated Vorador in ringing tones. "It seems you were correct in your boast after all."

Vorador smiled faintly in return and put Havoc and Malice into their places on his back, crisscrossed in an 'X' shape against one another.

"Kain boasts. I merely state facts." He said without a trace of irony. Ansu chortled and hoisted himself back up to his feet. He winced slightly and then shrugged it away, turning to look out from the battlements to the distant horizon. In the ever-prevailing gloom caused by the smog, it was difficult to tell whether it was sunrise or sunset. It was a continuous twilight that allowed onlya few bare patches of actual sky to show.

"Lord Kain needs to return." The Ancient Vampire said after a moment, turning to collect his axe from the floor. "We need blood in order to survive, as ever. This future world is barren and there are few creatures left to sustain us. "

Vorador nodded in grim agreement. The Cabal had been able to survive by carefully cultivating their human livestock and actually entering into an agreement with them. The humans would provide the Cabal with blood willingly and the Cabal would protect them from the aggression of the other feral Vampires, especially the Rahabim who could swim to reach their shores.

"Unless something is done, this world will die and take us with it." Ansu added.

"I fear it may already be too late." Vorador replied with a frown. The Ancient Vampire hoisted his axe up from the floor and began examining its edge for any nicks it had acquired during the duel. One of the first rules in the Order was to maintain your own weapon.

"The Serioli remain strong under Ajatar-Cadre's leadership." He said with a confidence that Vorador found somewhat strange, given the situation. "I will not abandon hope, old friend." The Ancient Vampire turned to face him. "Not just yet."

Vorador raised an eyebrow at him, flexing and rubbing his wrists to relieve the strain in them from the contest.

"And you have so much confidence in Ajatar that you would trust her to lead you through an apocalypse?" He asked. Ansu straightened in response to this question, his back stiffening with pride and his wings half spreading to give himself a dramatic appearance. He had a distant, faraway look, as if he were reliving past memories of glory.

"I would follow Ajatar into the sun, if she asked it of me." He said with conviction, nodding firmly once in his confidence. There was a significant amount of deep respect in his voice and he radiated a certain dignity, a courtliness that came with being a Serioli. They were the Heretic Army and stood proud and distinguished, a culture set apart.

"I am surprised the two of you are not life mates, you hold so much regard for one another." Vorador ventured, mostly as a joke, and watched as the smile instantly faded off his old trainer's face. It was a momentary flash of disappointment and regret which was quickly covered up. Ansu tried to look dismissive of the statement but the drooping wings behind him betrayed his inner feelings despite this effort.

"Ajatar values my opinions but she has never taken me to her bed." He said in a firm voice that seemed to be forced as neutral as possible. "Nor any other male."

Vorador raised both eyebrows at this and seeing his questioning expression, Ansu flushed and turned away to face the battlements. He kept his eyes on the horizon. The silence between them dragged on for a few moments.

"She has other tastes." He added then and after that refused to say a word more, leaving Vorador to grope his way towards a conclusion on his own.

Suddenly there was the rapid sound of running feet, echoing from the open entrance to the fortress interior. Turning, Vorador looked back to see another of the Serioli spiriting towards as them as fast as he could go. After a moment, Vorador recognised him. Kralek, a relatively young warrior who often used a spear as his chosen weapon. He had no weapon now and was running as fast as he could, a startled expression distorting his face.

"Warrior Ansu!" He was calling, running out into the courtyard and occasionally beating his wings to make himself faster now thathe had room to spread them. He came right up to them both and stopped, trying to recover his breath and blurt something out.

"Kralek, what is amiss?" Ansu asked. Kralek tried to speak but for a moment he was tongue-tied by his gasps for air. Clearly he had been running for some time and hadn't stopped for a moment.

"The Grandmaster demands you come, quickly!" He managed to say after a moment to gather his wits and breath. He gestured with an arm back the way he had come urgently, pointing a talon. "Audron's chambers have been sealed off!"

"What?!" Vorador demanded, turning to face him completely with eyes bulging in dismayed and angry alarm.

"What happened?!" Ansu asked Kralek, intently and with some urgency.

"The Hylden ladies are in there!" Kralek burst out, still gesturing with one talon. "They cast some sort of spell, translocated all the guards outside!" His expression was distraught and panicked. "We can't get back in!"

Vorador was moving before he even summoned the thoughts necessary for it, running back into the entrance of the fortress as fast as he could go.

-0-

**_"What sort of fool had I been? Had the Seer betrayed me? Did she intend some harm to Janos? But why?"_**

-0-

Even as he ran, fear coursing through him, the obvious answer to that question smacked him directly in the face.

-0-

**_"Of course! She had always hated Janos! Had she done all this simply to give herself the opportunity to kill him herself? If she had orchestrated all this simply for vindication then I would teach her the true meaning of the word!" _**

-0-

Anger, a boiling rage, was a living thing within him, along with a bitter self-recrimination for being so blind. Had all her words of prophecy, destiny and promised reward been little more than a farce so that she could finally have her revenge on Janos Audron? The anxiety and fury drove him on and he ran through the hallways of Kain's fortress without stopping.

Churning through his mind was the startling and icy cold possibility that all of that supposed political shuffling in Avernus had been little more than an elaborate charade in order to convince him of the Seer's worthiness. Perhaps the Hylden were as deranged and vengeful as they had ever been and they had simply become more subtle about it? The situation had been completely ripe for deception and betrayal and he ought to have known it. All other thought was quickly pushed aside by his anxiety and he had only one concern: Janos' wellbeing.

By the time he reached the doorway leading to the chamber where Janos had been placed, a large number of Serioli warriors had gathered just outside the entrance. Most of them were armed with sword, spears and axes. Apep was with them although he had his back to him and didn't notice Vorador arrive. Ajatar herself was there and was staring up at the doorway. It was sealed shut, the door locked and a shimmering obstacle blocked their way to even that. It was a pulsing green wall, translucent and rippling with strange, alien symbols that appeared and faded seemingly at random. When Ansu, with Kralek right behind him, arrived they made a loud clattering noise and Ajatar turned to face them all. Her expression was grim and strangely disappointed, her wings behind her twitching with the feathers rustling loudly in her agitation.

"It's a Glyph barrier, a portable one." She said with a grim nod of her head towards the green obstruction, stating the painfully obvious. "We can't get through and it's preventing anyone from just translocating inside."

Vorador turned his head and focused, trying to confirm this for himself. He didn't expect her to be wrong but he wanted to be certain. A brief push with his mental senses confirmed the impervious static field that was keeping anyone with the ability from simply transferring their physical presence past the obstacle.

Apep began swearing in the ancient tongue, so fast and furiously that Vorador understood only one word in six. He was in a provoked vengeful rage.

"Damn lying, Hylden bitches!" He eventually spat in the modern language. "We ought to have filled them with arrows the moment we saw them!" The grim expressions and angry mutterings among the other Serioli was a clear indication that his sentiments were shared. At this moment Vorador was almost in total agreement, himself.

Quickly his mind began to puzzle out the predicament.

"Is there another way into that chamber?" He asked urgently. Ajatar glanced up at him sharply and then narrowed her eyes in sudden intense thought.

"Yes!" She replied quickly, glancing up. She began gesturing to her right, indicating, he perceived, the outer edge of the fortress itself. "Adjacent to the room is a storage space. There is a door to a balcony parapet from there, leading outside!"

Vorador frowned at that. Such a way inside was perfect for him and that was the problem. The Seer had gone to all this trouble to keep them out and then left a back door open? This suddenly raised all sorts of questions, but Vorador was not in a mood to ponder them right now. Whether it was an insidious trap or just some joke, all that mattered to him now was getting inside and protecting his sire.

"Stay here. I will try to dispel the barrier from the inside." He told his old mentor and then raised his hands, cupping his talons around a central point. There was a pulsing glow and he promptly vanished into the haze of a translocation spell.

He did not need to go far. The spell merely transported him directly outside, to a rocky ledge that projected out over the long drop from the cliff wall to the distant ground, which was barely visible from this height.

The outside of the fortress was all jagged rock and stone, riddled with blackened creepers and an unwholesome-looking moss. A low-hanging, thick and large black cloud, mostly filled with a choking smoke, was passing around the mountain, shrouding everything beyond a few feet in a dark, near toxic haze.

Vorador paused to look around quickly to get his bearings. He had a rough idea of where had had translocated himself and it ought to have been near the outside of Janos' bedchamber. The cloud, however, kept him from seeing the supposed balcony he needed to reach from his present position. He was just going to have to climb towards it and hope for the best. There were ledges of varying sizes stretching across the cliff.

Briefly he considered changing his form to that of a raven and then flying about, but the winds across this sheer cliff-face were too strong and fast for that. No bird worth his feathers took off into these sorts of winds.

Instead, Vorador held the image of the wolf in his mind and then willed himself into it. His body flowed and oozed into the new shape and quickly he was on four feet. While not an avid climber, the wolf did have a superb ability to jump and Vorador employed that skill to leap across the distances between the ledges. His hindquarters did scrabble for an undignified moment when he misjudged the distance once, though.

The stamina of the wolf also helped, enabling him to clear distances over and over without losing energy. That was serendipitous as when he made one large leap and landed on a new ledge, the rock beneath his paws began to break and come apart from the impact. Acting instinctively he ran across the crumbling perch and launched himself again at the next one, just in time as the rocks clattered down the side of the cliff. The action had been so immediate and without thought that his landing on the next ledge was less than perfect.

Padding about, he turned to observe again from his new position. Peering through the black gloom with the better eyesight of the wolf, Vorador could see the balcony that Ajatar had described and it was indeed in the right place to be connected with Janos' chamber. It was a wide, smooth stone platform with Kain's imperial symbol engraved into it. A pair of large double doors was closed across the entrance to the inside.

He paused to watch that door for a long moment and, sure enough, there was no sign of a Glyph ward here. Just what sort of game was being played here?

His wolf form leapt across several more ledges, trying to get close enough to reach the balcony but the ledges themselves were getting thinner and thinner and were made from looser stone. The last three to clear were mere perches and seemed as if they were held together mostly by half-dead creepers. Growling to himself, he looked back and forth between the balcony and his current position, estimating the distance he needed to clear. It was at least thirty feet, far too much for a wolf to clear in one bound. He turned his head and sniffed at the air. The winds were still fierce but he was sure he could clear a mere thirty feet in his bird form, regardless of the air currents.

Quickly he shifted back into his normal form. He could not go from one alternate form to another instantly. He always had to return to his original shape first.

The moment he did so and somewhat ironically, a sudden and alarmed flock of black birds burst out of a series of hidden crevices just above his head. Cawing loudly they began flapping around, seven of them all at once trying to force him away from their nests. Vorador batted one away contemptuously with the back of his hand andthen glared up at the others.

"Go away." He told them in a flat voice. He had spent some time training his own birds, who had come to him in the depths of the Black Forest. He knew how to command their kind. The flock back-winged as one at the ultimatum and then flapped off quickly, as if they were unruly children told off by a parent.

Now undisturbed Vorador adopted their feathered form and spread his own wings. A big gust of wind did come up to try and hamper him on the short flight but it only lifted him up high over the edge of the balcony. In mid-air he changed back into his ordinary form and dropped down, dead centre on the imperial sigil.

He wasted no time and went to the doors. To his puzzlement, they were not locked and he pulled them open with ease and stepped inside. Not even a locked door?

The interior of the adjacent room was round and filled with metal shelves that might once have held any number of books or other items, with a far doorway leading directly into the main chamber which he recognised even from across the room. Leaning against that doorway, her head turned to look into the main chamber, was the Seer.

"Ah, so you got in." She said in her musically accented voice, without turning around to look directly at him. Vorador's expression went dangerously flat and he began across the chamber towards her, his hand moving towards the hilt of Marrow at his side. As if she sensed this, the Hylden woman turned her head to look at him and the look on her face was intensely disapproving.

"Stay your blades, Vorador. All is well here." She told him with some contempt in her voice. Vorador stopped a short distance away but his hand did not move away from the hilt of his sword.

"All is well?" He repeated slowly and with thinly veiled anger. She looked him squarely in the eye, defying his vehemence with a cold steel of her own. Vorador took another step towards her, keeping his expression neutral despite the anger he felt. "Damkina, if you have done anything to Janos–" He began but the Seer grunted and waved him off with a flick of one hand.

"You are not Kain, Vorador. Your threats lack that certain edge of imminent mindless violence that he commands." She told him bluntly and without much concern for his angry presence. He glared at her, allowing some of his irritation show.

"Tell that to six members of the Circle of Nine." He told her ominously, reminding her that when necessary he could be capable of quite unspeakable acts of violence. She looked at him levelly and then smiled, chuckling to herself as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Sadly, Janos is unharmed." She told him and gestured her head towards the room beyond. "He was administered the cure to his ailments very shortly after we arrived."

Vorador's left eyebrow shot up at this statement and his angry stance relaxed without him realising it, his hand dropping away from Marrow's hilt.

"But she said the alterations to the process would take days." He said as his brow wrinkled into a frown.

"She lied, Vorador." The Seer told him with a faint knowing smile. Then she turned and walked into the main room, beckoning him to follow. "If you seek someone with ulterior motives, I suggest you speak with Tiamatu."

She stepped aside for him and watched him intently, with a faint smile as he swiftly stepped into the room. His eyes instantly went to Janos and were met with the sight of his sire, lying there in the bed and left as he had been. In fact, he was breathing more steadily and there were visible signs of life. Quickly, though, Vorador's attention was turned away from him and to the far side of the chamber.

The barred door glowed green from the barrier that kept out the Serioli, flickering with the strange alien energies that erected such unearthly obstacles. From this side of the barrier Vorador could see that it was being projected and maintained by a strange device which he recognised as having been a part of the instruments Tiamatu had brought with her. This was the final proof that she had been waiting to try this from the beginning.

Scowling with renewed irritation he half turned, then paused and stared at the cringing figure huddled against the far wall.

Tiamatu was on her hands and knees, her body slippery with a thick sheen of sweat and other strange liquids. They were dripping from her, ruptures opening along her skin to ooze out the liquid that began to pool around her. She lay there trembling violently and as he began to approach, she heaved forward and vomited up noisily a mixture of bile, blood and stinking half-digested food. Vorador took an involuntary step backwards.

The Seer simply watched all this happen dispassionately and with reserve, keeping herself out of the way and a mere observer, not going to the aid of her kinswoman at all.

"What is this?" Vorador demanded harshly, wrinkling his nose at the smell coming not just from the excretions. Tiamtu herself seemed to be radiating a powerful acrid stench. She paused to clear her lips of the disgusting vomit with the back of her hand.

"The...induced gestational period...I believe." She replied and her voice was faint, barely above a whisper and very hoarse. Her inflections seemed to rise and fall at random, as if she had no control over it. "Mildly unpleasant...to say the least."

Vorador's frown deepened into a scowl.

"Gestation?" He asked questioningly. With a grunt of pain and effort, Tiamatu raised herself up onto her knees. She was struggling for breath and her eyes were unfocused.

"My body... is in a state of accelerated growth." She explained after a moment to gather her wits and breath. Slowly she raised both arms up in front of herself. They trembled visibly. "The enzyme and catalyst I extracted from the blood samples I obtained from you and your sire...have provided me...with the missing element."

Suddenly she let out a loud cry of pain and clutched at her sides, doubling over onto her belly. She continually screamed and her spine itself seemed to ripple under her very skin. Vorador watched with a sort of sick fascination as the two jutting bony spurs that protruded out from her shoulder-blades twitched back and forth, the skin over them beginning to stretch and even tear.

"You told me you needed that blood to affect his treatment." He said accusingly, ignoring her discomfort with ease. Tiamatu took several hard breaths to steady herself after this attack although tears of pain were running openly down her cheeks.

"A little falsehood on my part, I'm afraid." She admitted and almost seemed to laugh despite herself, albeit hysterically. With some effort she gestured towards the bed where Janos still lay. "The treatment has already been administered; I did that as soon as I got here. He will...awaken very shortly."

His attention diverted, Vorador took another long look at his sire. This time instead of just surveying him with his eyes, he pushed out his senses and began focusing on the Ancient Vampire's body with his mind.

-0-

**_"I could sense my sire stirring. He was on the verge of consciousness, rising out of his cage of nightmares." _**

-0-

Janos was actually beginning to wake up. He was twisting around in the bed, taking in sharp, shuddering breaths and twitching as if he were finally beginning to fight off the twisted phantoms of his tortured mind. His eyelids were beginning to flutter and Vorador could sense that he could hear them, even if distantly.

A surge of relief swept through him to see his sire so close to being restored. It would not be long now, perhaps mere minutes, before Janos would be himself once more.

"I ...needed the blood of you both...for quite another reason entirely." Tiamatu chuckled and then hissed, clenching her teeth against a spasm of pain up along her spine. Vorador turned back to face her and he quickly let the relief he felt not be shown on his face.

"What have you done?" He asked flatly. Tiamatu paused to take some more breaths before she answered.

"I was Marduk's apprentice." She said and despite her pain there was confident pride in her voice, as much as Vorador had heard Ansu use for being a Serioli under Ajatar's command. "He was the best of our House, giving all our kind hope by showing them how we can elevate ourselves...force the evolution and glory we were so long denied."

There was another spasm, this one stronger then the first two and Tiamatu collapsed back to her hands and knees. She screamed in pain, the noise cut off by another splattering of blood and worse that forced itself out her mouth in a vomiting belch. Once the affect had passed, the Hylden woman strained as if she were going to faint.

"But he...he could not make the process seamless... it left him weak and feeble on the ground even if strong in the air." She continued instead, as if glad to focus her mind on something during this strange and disgusting process. "I could not simply re-use his original formula... I had to discover what element had been missing to ensure body strength cohesion."

Then the Hylden woman actually managed to chuckle again, her chest heaving painfully in the effort.

"And of course with the greatest irony, the element required was in Vampire blood... especially in the original winged species and their nearest kin." Her chuckling became almost neurotic and as she looked up there was a wild sort of expectant joy in her gaze. "The information necessary for the development of strong powered flight resided most fully in them. Applied to the formula it should fill in the gap in the wonderful equation." Her breath was coming faster and faster. She was almost hyperventilating. "I am... mere moments away from seeing... if my theory is correct."

Vorador's expression remained flatly disapproving.

"If not, you have permanently disfigured yourself." He told her without much sympathy for her self-inflicted pain. Tiamatu gave him a glare, full of pride and determination.

"My Maestro took the risk." She said and in her voice was the stubborn perseverance of youthful conviction. "I can do no less."

The Seer smiled at this and  
let out a short chuckle of her own, almost a girlish giggle.

"But let us have an audience to this event, however it might turn out." She said and gestured one hand imperiously at the device maintaining the Glyph ward. There was a short fizzle and the machine went silent. A moment later, the barrier vanished.


	7. 6 Gifted With Flight

When the barrier on the door dissipated, it immediately burst open. Ajatar flew into the room, both of her short blades drawn and in each hand. Behind her were Ansu with his axe held up and Apep with his own sword drawn back as if he was going to leap into violence at any moment. A dozen more Serioli were behind them, weapons in their hands.

It was only the scream of utterly irrepressible pain from Tiamatu that caused them to slow and then come to a stop. Ajatar spread her wings out wide to bar their ways, her large golden eyes fixed on the spectacle before them. Her expression was one of stunned and incredulous awe at the sight before her.

In the moment of immobility that followed, Janos Audron let out a deep groan of groggy awakening and with one motion hoisted himself up to a sitting position in the bed. He rubbed one hand against his head, his lips drawn back over his fangs in a hiss as he moved very stiff limbs. Then he opened his eyes. They were unfocused and clearly he did not see everything at first. The Ancient Vampire blinked a few times and then looked about himself in dazed confusion, clearly not comprehending his situation.

When his eyes fell on Tiamatu, he stopped and simply stared.

The leader of the House of Knowledge kept on screaming and screaming, her back arching in her agony. All stunned eyes in the room were now on her so there was no mistaking what happened next. The bony spurs growingout of her back began to elongate, pushing out and expanding. There was the audible sound of bones snapping and then clicking back into new configurations. Under her rippling skin, muscle was beginning to develop thickly around the changing spurs. New, powerful muscle pushed up and around itself as it knitted into place and her back looked as if a dozen writhing snakes were trapped under her skin. A thick, transparent liquid was leaking out of the wounds on her back now, filling the air with a pungent stench that smelt of a concentrated musk.

The spurs were stretching on and on, pushing up until they projected a few feet out from her back. As they grew, they seemed to segment themselves into separate pieces all joined together by new ligaments and joints.

Tiamatu's screaming was cut off by another induced vomit, and with a sharp jerk, the spur on the left-hand side of her back began to twitch and pull away. It was twisting up at a sharp angle, pulling at the skin that held it in place. It seemed to stretch obscenely. Then with a sudden flourish and a spray of bloody gore, the spur seemed to unfold itself like a paper fan and spread wide.

Everyone stared at the unmistakable structure of a massive wing. It was beautifully proportioned, with long, elegant fingers that arched. Spread out wide it had a span of about ten feet. That was a larger wingspan than even the wings of the Ancient Vampires in the room watching.

Tiamatu collapsed almost onto her face and this partly muffled her last scream as the spur on the right began to push up and out, twisting and unfolding until it too spread itself out. The two wing structures held themselves up high, almost touching the ceiling, dripping with blood and worse. Tiamatu herself was struggling for breath and trembling violently, trying her best to rise from the floor but did not seem to have the strength.

But no one paid any attention to her. All eyes were on the wings as they began to change yet again. Between the fingers and support, a thick membrane was very quickly beginning to fill in. Watching it spread was like watching a fungus consume across spoiled food in rapid time. The membrane was faintly coloured a pale green and gave the wings a very alien look, like those of some giant, unearthly bat.

The Seer looked down at her kinswoman and a slow, knowing smile parted her lips. Tiamatu had done it right. The wings had been formed; the muscle mass to support them encouraged to grow and the rest of her body had not withered as Marduk's had. Unlike his wings, though, these were even larger and had much more physical support across their joints and the membrane was much tougher. In fact, it looked almost as if it were made of scales rather than stretched skin.

Slowly, Tiamatu began to rise but she swayed back and forth unsteadily, finding that the extra weight had affected her centre of balance. She got to her knees and breathing hard, both in exhaustion and trepidation, she turned her head to look back over her shoulder and her eyes widened in fearful joy. As if testing to see whether she could, she moved her wings until they circled her like a protective tent. Her breath came out in a hoarse, almost rapturous whine as she ran the tips of her shaking fingers over the wing membrane. Tears rolled down her face, not of pain this time, but rather of an exultant joy at her success.

A shadow fell over her and she glanced up. Standing over her was Ajatar-Cadre, staring down at her with a strangely unreadable expression. As the silence endured, the Serioli warriors stood there in awkward and stunned immobility. They did not know what to do now. The bizarre transformation had drained them of their anger and zeal.

Ajatar looked down at her, unblinking and quiet, and then knelt slightly and offered Tiamatu a hand to rise. The newly fledged flying Hylden looked at that cloven hand for a long moment. That hand became symbolic somehow, an icon that represented a conciliation, coadjuvancy and in some way, a warm welcome. As if it was the collective hand of one flying species welcoming the arrival of another.

Tiamatu stared back at her and then reached up and took that hand. With Ajatar's help she rose up to her feet, her new wings flexing back and forth randomly as new muscles and nerves twitched; misfiring from their sudden emergence.

Seeing the two of them standing there, each with wings and their hands clasped together, Vorador felt all the anger and bitterness for the deception leech out of him. Try as he might, he simply could not keep his fury.

"You will need time to build up your strength." Ajatar began and her voice was soft, more tender and gentle than Vorador had ever heard her speak before. Tiamatu shook her head once in denial.

"No-no-" She breathed. "My people have waited long enough." Grunting, she let her dewy wings spread out wide, flexing them back and forth. "And I must be sure!"

With a sudden lurch the Hylden woman turned and ran, bolting across the chamber and tucking her wings as close to her body as she could. Before anyone in the room could move, she hurled herself up and out through the stained glass window. The multi-coloured image of Kain's victory over the Sarafan Lord shattered outward with a loud clatter and Tiamatu vanished.

A moment later Ajatar herself followed, running across the room and leaping out the window after her. Vorador quickly rushed to the opening and stared up outside. Ansu was right behind him, staring up over his shoulder at an incredible sight.

Tumbling, soaring, swooping and diving through the empty air were an Ancient winged Vampire and a Hylden. The two of them circled around one another like a pair of birds. Tiamatu showed her inexperience by flapping a great deal more than was necessary to stay aloft, her economy of strength and movement leaving much to be desired. When she fumbled, Ajatar flew underneath her to aid in her support.

Higher and higher and farther and farther, the two of them flew until they were reduced to distant specs against the cloud cover.

As one, Vorador and Ansu turned to regard one another. The looks they exchanged were ones of stunned incredulity and they read in each other's faces a certainty that they had just borne witness to an event that transcended mere historical merit and passed into the realms of legend. It was an occurrence that had the potential to change everything in the relations between Vampires and Hylden and in ways neither of them could guess.

Suddenly Vorador turned and looked behind him. Standing there, his wings drooping in slack tiredness, was Janos Audron. Vorador felt his relief soar at the sight of his sire out of bed but then it quickly died away.

Janos' face was pale and his golden eyes were wide with stunned shock, and yet at the same time were slightly unfocused. Vorador could see that despite his mobility, his sire was not fully aware yet. He had seemingly been so startled by what he had just witnessed that he didn't even see either Vorador or Ansu as he stumbled up to the broken window and stared up out at the now distant flying pair.

"Is this some lurid, disgusting fantasy concocted by my deepest inner voices?!" Audron demanded and seemed to be speaking to himself. "A Vampire and a Hylden...flying together in the skies of Nosgoth!?" He shook his head and then held up his hands to cover his eyes, his wings dragging almost lifelessly on the floor. "Have I plunged into the depths of Hell to be rewarded with a vision of suchutter blasphemy?"

He turned away from the sight sharply, keeping his face hidden behind his hands. Vorador quickly looked him over, judging his creator's response to the event and his current state of wakefulness. True to her word, Tiamatu seemed to have roused Janos. The physical signs of his time within the demon realm seemed to have all but completely disappeared and he seemed more alert and responsive than he had been since his rescue from the Ziggurat.

"No, Sire, you are not in Hell." Vorador told him soothingly and gently placed a hand on his bare shoulder. "Not yet."

Janos flinched from the contact and looked up. His gaze was slightly unfocused and he seemed to be looking through him, as if his first-born fledgling was not there. Then his eyes drew back to centre and his expression subtly changed, becoming less slackened and automatic and now full of real emotion. He was silent for a moment and then reached out and held his son's arm.

"Vorador?" He asked as if he could not quite believe he was there, his grip on Vorador's arm unnecessarily strong. "Where am I?" Janos then began looking around himself, now finally taking an interest in his new location. The stirrings of alarm were clear in his expression.

"You are in our stronghold, Audron." Ansu said, coming to his left side while Vorador held him on the right. "We had you brought here for your protection."

Janos turned to look at him and he took a sudden startled step backwards. Vorador perceived quickly that his sire was not alarmed but merely stunned by the presence of another of his species. Janos had not seen another of the Ancient Vampires for thousands of years.

"Ansu!? Of the Serioli?!" He began in a hoarse voice, almost spluttering in his surprise. Evidentially he recalled his fledgling's combat trainer, even after so long. Quickly Janos glanced around and his jaw dropped at the sight of the other Serioli warriors in the chamber as well. He blinked several times as if he thought his vision was obscured by a cruel illusion.

When he finally accepted that what he was seeing was real, his drooping wings snapped right back up again. But the look on his face was one of angry indignation rather than happy surprise as might have been expected.

"What is this?" Janos demanded and his voice almost broke in his outrage. "I had thought I was the last of the Originals to survive!" His tone was bitterly accusing and he turned to grasp Ansu by the front of his white toga. "Where have you Serioli been hiding all this time?!"

All the warriors in the room turned to look at him, for his raised voice and comment immediately caught their attention. Apep flared in furious indignation and for a moment he looked like he might go for his sword.

"Serioli do not hide." Ansu told him with tight-lipped reserve, his eyebrows perfectly level in a neutral expression as he quite firmly removed Janos' hands from his toga. Janos was still weak from his recent ordeals and he was easily disengaged. "We were brought forward from the fall of the Citadel to this distant time by Lord Kain."

Janos' anger seemed to melt instantly and he frowned in perplexity. Vorador watched his sire most carefully, sensing that Janos was still emotionally unstable from his deprivations and mental strife, even if he were now somewhat cognitive. He also seemed to be in a state of flux and once his attention was diverted, seemed not to remember the sight of the flying Hylden.

"Kain?" Janos repeated and then groaned, holding a hand to the side of his head. He staggered forward and almost lost his balance but Vorador caught him before he could fall.

"Not too quickly, Sire. You have only just recovered." He warned his maker and guided him away from the window and back over to the bed. Janos did not resist and indeed seemed hardly aware of the manoeuvring.

"Recovered?" He repeated in puzzlement and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting out a grateful sigh of relief. He took a few moments to collect his thoughts and then shook himself, as if to discharge any lingering grogginess. Vorador gently pushed his thoughts out to his maker, trying to sense his state of mind. It was usually very rude to force your own senses into another without permission, but Vorador was concerned for Janos' wellbeing and did not think that in his maker's current state he would notice.

Janos was a stew of mixed thoughts, feelings and memories. The pieces were sliding back into place very slowly, like a self-assembling jigsaw puzzle.

"What happened to me?" He asked, more to himself than to them. He was shaking his head and frowning deeply. "I...I remember..." His frown deepened and he seemed to concentrate as hard as he could. After a moment he opened his eyes and the light of clear remembrance was in them, shadowed by a cloud of apprehension.

"I remember fighting the Sarafan Lord... Kain needed time to reclaim the Reaver..." He mused with quiet breaths and Vorador knew of which time he was speaking. It had been the assault on the HyldenCity to prevent the emergence of a Hylden army from the gate and to defeat the Sarafan Lord once and for all. Once Kain had brought down their method of keeping the city shielded from translocation spells, Janos had teleported himself and Vorador inside to aid in the assault. That had been the time when Vorador had learned of his adopted daughter's murder. The bitter memory made him frown in discontent.

"He threw me into the portal..." Janos was continuing, oblivious to Vorador's own pique. "And then it shut behind me." His frown deepened and he tried to remember what happened after that. Thankfully, to Vorador's mind, his sire shook his head with a discontented expression. Seemingly he could not recall.

"You have spent over two thousand years in the demon dimension, Sire." Vorador told him in a very soft voice. "The high priest of the Hylden, Ishtar, held you captive. But we managed to retrieve you." He would say no more about it than that. It would be better if Janos never recalled the specifics of his ordeal.

Janos gave a grimace but then his frown turned more confused and he glanced up at his son with a questioning expression.

"We?" He repeated.

"Myself, one of my offspring and that wretched cobalt corpse, Raziel." Vorador replied and the sudden change in his sire was remarkable to see. Janos' eyes widened to near ovals and his wings snapped out to either side with swift movements. His blue skin paled even more as he half rose off the edge of the bed.

"Raziel!?" He blurted and his voice broke in his alarm, no, his anxiety. There was a powerful, overriding guilt in his eyes that was so naked that Vorador actually found himself growing uncomfortable. "No- No that cannot be." Janos sank back down onto the bed. He was trembling again and his face was turned down to look at the talons on his feet. "They made me kill him." He breathed and it almost came out as a sob. "I watched, powerless to stop them- as they raised my arms and channelled down their evil power." His voice almost gave out in his evident and intense self-loathing. "Raziel lay broken at my feet."

Vorador had heard of this event. After he and Raziel had defeated Marduk he had forced the blue skeleton to tell him everything that had happened. It had been a lengthy, convoluted tale that was so incredulous that Vorador wondered how much of it he could believe. Here, at least, he had found confirmation of some of those described events.

According to Raziel, Janos' heart had been returned to his body and then shortly after, his essence overtaken by a Hylden possession. Raziel had been forced to do battle with him but, overcome by sentimentality, he had not been able to bring himself to strike the final blow. That had given the Hylden possessing Janos the opportunity to counterattack, seemingly obliterating the blue corpse. Vorador saw that, obviously, Janos had blamed himself for not being able to prevent it.

"I can assure you, Sire, he survived the experience and more besides." He told his creator, keeping that calm, reassuring tone. Janos' head snapped up and the expression on his face was one of desperate hope. He clutched at his son's arm urgently.

"Are you telling me he still lives?!" He asked with a piteous plea in his voice. "You are certain of this?" Then a flicker of doubt seemed to seep into his expression, the edges of the joyful smile that was beginning to form pulling down. "Vorador, do not tell me something you know I just want to hear-"

Ansu, who had come up to the edge of the bed after a brief word with Apep to organise the Serioli in Ajatar's absence, scratched the back of his head absently with his talons.

"Short, blue skeleton-like fellow, with two flaps of skin trailing out behind him? Big, blank eyes and a drape around his shoulders?" He asked. Janos looked up at him with startled confusion but he managed the barest nod.

"Yes, he was around, quite the ghastly-looking, ghoul of a creature." The Serioli added in tactless confirmation. Janos drew in a deep, shuddering breath and then put his head in hands, although this time the emotion radiating from him was one ofsuch relief that the Ancient Vampire looked as if a massive, backbreaking burden of guilt had suddenly been removed from his shoulders. He almost fell back onto the bed in his joy.

Vorador was actually a little surprised to see joyful tears in his sire's eyes.

"Praise be to God!" Janos almost wept, tilting his head up towards the ceiling and closing his eyes. "I didn't murder him!"

For once, Vorador found something to be grateful to that emaciated blue creature for. If he had not found a way to survive and endure, then Janos would have had that terrible burden placed on him for eternity.

"What has happened? I must hear all." Audron said quickly then, looking around with renewed and focused interest in his surroundings.

At that precise moment Vorador had a very dark premonition. A deep, cold, sinking feeling right in his gut. He sensed nothing but he did not need to. Every fibre of his being told him what was about to happen. Slowly he turned and glanced back over his shoulder.

Sure enough, she was standing there. Her body was hidden from Janos' sight by his own and her expression was coldly adamant.

"Vorador, if you please." She said to him in a quiet voice. "There is something I want to say to him that I have waited a very long time to say." Janos heard her speak and was half rising up when, with a resigned sigh to the unpleasantness that was about to commence, Vorador stepped aside. This was an inevitable occurrence, a clash of two forces that had been fated to come together, he could palpably feel that.

When Janos saw her, his eyes bulged in startled recognition. He knew her for a Hylden but he also knew who and what she was.

"YOU?!" He gasped and his voice reached a shout that echoed through the room. But by now most of the Serioli had already left to go up to the battlements to watch the two flying women. Only Apep remained by the broken window and he turned away from that to look up in surprise at the bellow. Janos was on his feet, wings snapping out wide, retracting and then snapping out again in his dismay. He had to be physically restrained by Ansu to prevent him from reaching over and grabbing the Seer.

"No inmate has ever escaped the Eternal Prison!" Audron blurted out, shaking his head in stunned incredulity. The Seer's face twisted into a disgusted and angry sneer and she looked him straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering.

"Tell me, Audron, have you ever seen the inside of that prison?" She asked him flatly and he stopped struggling, simply looking at her. "Have you seen what happens to the lost souls sent there?" The accusing tone in her voice actually made all those around her, even Janos, flinch. "Did you know what torments lay inside when you locked me in?"

The Hylden woman's voice was almost savagely bitter by the end and she took a step forward, glaring directly into his face. She held his gaze for a moment and then drew back.

"No...I can see in your eyes you didn't." She said quietly. Then without warning and with great force, she drew her hand up and sharply slapped him across the face. The blow was ringing and it knocked Janos' head sideways, his face startled that she had struck him. Vorador almost took an instinctive step forward to protect his sire from physical harm, a reaction that is so entrenched in the mind of a fledgling that it is near instinct, but he forcibly restrained himself. Some deep compulsion, even stronger than instinct, was telling him not to interfere.

"And that is far worse than if you had known." The Seer said and her voice was bitter. "You did it to me in ignorance!" She was supremely angry but a great deal of her immediate rage seemed to have been dissipated by the slap she delivered.

Janos glared back at her, one hand raised to the cheek where she had slapped him and his expression became one of imperious indignation.

"You were an enemy, flaunting your inappropriate liaison with Ba'al Zebur in front of all of us!" He argued, beginning to splutter. He drew himself up, shrugging free of Ansu's grip. "I did what our faith required of me!" Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who let you out of that prison?"

There was a sudden silence and during that moment, Janos' expression changed as he began to perceive that which was obvious. Only one other person alive had known where he had cast the Hylden woman. Slowly he turned to look at his son and Vorador met his gaze flatly and without any attempt at a denial.

"I did." He confirmed after he held that startled, disbelieving gaze for a moment. He would not lie, not to his sire. He had previously kept it a secret due to the fact that Janos had never known or suspected and thus never directly asked, but under that confused stare he could not dissemble.

"Vorador..." Janos breathed.

"I freed her eons ago, long before the Sarafan inquisitors stormed your Retreat." Vorador continued on, deciding it was best just to get it all out in the open. "I needed an edge against the other Vampires who were encroaching upon my territory. I thought perhaps a modicum of Hylden enchantment would be sufficient."

"Science, Vorador." The Seer corrected him without turning, her eyes squarely on Janos. "We employ science, not sorcery."

Audron was pale and his face twisted with disbelief.

"You... came to the aid of a Hylden? An Unspoken?" He asked in clear shock. The Seer snorted at his words and stepped closer to him, violating Janos' personal space.

"And in your mind that's an unforgivable crime isn't it?" She asked him hotly and seemed almost ready to slap him again. This time Vorador did move in to hold out a restraining hand. "My people did absolutely nothing to yours and yet we are guilty of siring all evil in your eyes." She almost seemed to chew on insubstantial anger. "And our only infraction was that we did not want to die."

Vorador had an epiphany at that moment. The Seer had never been emotional by choice, preferring to keep her own feelings hidden behind a wall of neutrality. Here, she finally had the opportunity to let all that pent-up, churning emotion flow out. It must have been a deep well.

Conversely, he perceived, Janos was also being emotionally pushed. There was the usual religious conviction in his eyes from his adherence to the Wheel of Fate religion, but there were also flickers of doubt sprouting. Janos was not some simple militant zealot, blinded by the light of his own beliefs, but was a rational person with a great intellect and empathy. Despite his own faith and conviction he had flinched when the Seer had told him of the true horrific nature of the prison he had placed her in.

"My ancestors during the war acted in accordance with their beliefs." Janos stated and his defence sounded a little desperate. "Ours was a holy calling, a mission given to us by God Himself through his divine messengers."

The Seer laughed in response, tilting her head back to nearly cackle and there was no mirth in the sound.

"Ah...yes, the Divus." She said with an ironic smile and her dark eyes glittered maliciously. "You weren't around then, Audron... but I was." The Hylden woman reached out and turned her hand over, palm upwards. There was a short shimmering in the air over her hand and a deep humming sound. At her command formed the image of several winged Vampires that Vorador had never seen before. One was short but stout, another was tall and heavily muscled and the third was thin and wiry, with a spidery black tattoo spreading across his face from around his left eye.

"I was there when Raziel-Divus and his apostles, Metatron and Asmodeus appeared to your people in a contrived blaze of glory." The Seer said and Vorador frowned and quickly stared with close attention at the winged Vampire in the centre. Incredibly, there was no doubt. The winged figure standing there had the same build and facial features as the blue skeleton.

Janos stared at the three figures and his eyes were wide in reverent amazement as he beheld the images of living saints.

"I was there when they dragged your once mighty culture, based on rational thought and scepticism, down into howling barbarism. Leaving only the level-headed Serioli as a testament to what had once been." She flexed her hand and the image changed and refocused on a military horror. The projected scene was a massacre. The skies were filled with dozens of black winged Vampire warriors, swooping down one after another over a broken and burning Hylden city.

Many Hylden were running and screaming in all directions, only to be picked off and killed on the spot. The Vampires' favourite method of killing seemed to be impalement, diving down with a spear and driving it into the chest of any Hylden they saw. Even children were not spared from their wrath, their broken and shattered bodies lying lifeless on the ground and riddled with arrows and skewers. A few Hylden were trying to fight back but they were quickly singled out and then ripped to pieces.

Ansu had to look away, his face contorted with disgust and a palpable shame. Janos kept watching for a moment longer but then even he began to turn.

The Seer lashed out with her free hand and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Don't you DARE look away!" She told him harshly. "You will see this!" The scene projected changed, moving away from the city to a raised hill just outside of it. Standing on that hill, surveying the carnage were the three figures she had projected earlier. Metatron and Asmodeus stood to either side of Raziel-Divus and each of them had a new mark upon their brow, the same eternity sigils that Vorador had seen on the forehead of Moebius the Time Streamer. Raziel-Divus had even taken to wearing a crown like some feudal king.

He raised his hand slowly towards the settlement.

"They do well in the name of our Lord." He said and even though his voice rippled as if spoken underwater, Vorador instantly recognised it as the blue wraith's. There could be no question now of an assured connection.

"They fight and die, my King." Metatron replied. "To turn the Wheel. They honour the cause with their bravery and will be remembered, even when they expire and pass on to new lives." Beside him, Asmodeus gave off a short laugh and leaned against his larger compatriot in a comradely fashion.

"Oh, Metatron, old boy. You can be quite the poetic bore." He chortled with almost malicious mirth, ribbing the larger Ancient Vampire with his elbow. "Save the cliché propaganda for the plebs and the silly ones who spend their brief, fragile and vapid lives living in the dirt during the campaign."

He pointed at the burning city with the dagger he was holding, a slice of meat dripping gravy skewered on its tip. A few bites had been taken out of it.

"See that? They attacked because we ordered them to and they did it without question or hint of reluctance, to a man." His grin was jubilantly exultant. "Can you grasp the true extent of that influence, that power? They will do anything we say. Anything! We are Gods to these idiots!"

"A necessary evil." Raziel-Divus said without turning to look at him. "So that the purpose of the Authority will be served."

"Oh yes, that too, of course." Asmodeus was quick to agree and took another large bite of his meat and chewed happily as the fires consumed the Hylden city. The Seer then dismissed the image and it flickered out of sight as her arm fell to her side.

"They manipulated your race through their enforced regiment of ignorance and made my kind the scapegoats." She flatly told Janos, who was still staring at the spot the image had been. He had gone so pale now he was almost white rather than blue. He began to tremble again violently, his wings dropping across the bed lifelessly. His head began to shake, at first in horror, then in disbelief and finally in angry denial.

"Lies!" He finally spat, his wings snapping back up and out sharply. "All lies!" He rose to his full height quickly and jabbed an angry talon towards at the Hylden woman. "You deceiving witch! You dare misuse the image of the sainted Divus this way!? You make them out to be a troop of con-artists rather than the rightful spiritual saviours of my people that they were!" He spread his hands out wide in a reverent gesture. "For it was they who revealed the voice of God to us!"

"God, eh?" The Seer asked with heavy contempt. "The Oracle whose voice echoed out of the deep, calling himself the hub of the Wheel?"

"You know of Him, and yet you reject His word?" Janos asked savagely.

"Birth, death and rebirth." The Seer quoted. "You are born, you live and then you die. Repeating the cycle over and over, for eternity. Never an end in sight. No one is a new person in their own right, merely a rewriting of something that has come before." She looked at him gravely. "You call that laudable, or even possible?" She shook her head in something like exasperation. "Janos Audron, despite how much I despise you I know that you are not stupid. We Hylden discovered the truth and that is why we denied that Wheel."

"What truth?" Janos asked tartly.

"That it is all a lie." She told him bluntly. "No soul is reincarnated. It holds too much of its owner's identity and personality to simply be put back into the body of an infant." She made a circling motion with one hand. "A soul is created upon the birth of a person and it is unique to them and them alone. As a person goes through their lifespan, the soul accumulates energy and when they die that energy is discharged back into the world to be reused and the soul itself wanders for a time, before it too fades to become one with the universe." Then she smiled ironically.

"Or at least, that is what should happen. But there is a parasite, a cancerous being that sucks the souls dry of their energy and then locks their essence away inside itself. It calls itself righteous and commands the Divus ensure the conviction of the faithful, to supply it with a never-ending stream of spirits to sate its hunger."

"Now you insult my very GOD?!" Janos was almost beside himself with rage. He suddenly made to lunge at her, his talons outstretched. Once more Ansu restrained him by grabbing him around the midsection.

"Kain showed me the truth, Audron." The Seer told him without retreating either physically or mentally from his wrath. She smiled at him with deliberate insult and Vorador instantly saw that she was intentionally goading him. "He showed me what your God looks like. Yes, I've actually seen him! No mere disembodied voice but a real being! A disgusting mass of writhing tentacles! A deformed octopus!"

Janos struggled violently against Ansu and had the Serioli warrior not been so strong, Janos might have broken his grip and lunged at the Seer with his bare talons. His wings were flapping hard like those of a grounded and frantic bird. He was even losing feathers.

"You...all your kind must and will be shut back in the demon dimension where you will rot for the rest of time!" Janos was so enraged that he was spitting in his fury. Vorador stared at his maker and then, finally, stepped forward.

"Sire, that's enough!" He spoke before he even knew he was going to. Janos snapped his head around to look at him. "No one deserves to be bound up in eternal torment, subjected to the agonies of an unearned punishment. I thought you would have understood that." Vorador spoke calmly but with flat authority. It was a tone he had never used with Janos before and it reached his sire. His anger seemed to drop away at the sight of the disapproval in the eyes of his first-born.

"I would never seek to cause you anguish, Sire." Vorador told him but kept all reverent gentleness out of his voice. Janos visibly drooped at the tone like a flower gone to seed. Seeing that reaction in his maker from words he had spoken caused Vorador a great deal of anguish, but he pushed on regardless. This had to be said. "But I have seen enough to know that you are wrong. The Hylden do not deserve one tenth of the punishment inflicted upon them and if your religion says they do, then it is wrong. You ought to have the empathy in you to see that."

He turned away, unable to look his sire in the face.

"Janos, don't make me ashamed of you." He said, finally giving Audron the ultimatum that needed to be given. He felt sick for making it but it was necessary. There was a long silence and then suddenly the air pulsed as a white glow illuminated the room. Startled, Vorador spun around to see Ansu backing off in surprise. Janos was fading away, his face distraught and shamed, into the midst of a translocation spell. Before Vorador could stop him he had gone.

Quickly he reached out with his mind, trying to sense where his sire had moved himself to. But he could find nothing. Janos had left no trace for him to follow.

"Let him go." The Seer said, her voice nearly a sigh of relief now that the emotional moment she had geared herself for had passed.

"But..." Vorador began.

"If he chooses to fly off like a scolded hatchling then that's his own affair." She told him tartly and wagged a finger at him. "You're not his nursemaid, Vorador."

He glared at her savagely.

"You planned all of that, didn't you?" He accused. She gave him a level sort of look that neither confirmed nor denied such contrivance.

"Immaterial." She said and locked him in place with a steady, commanding and imperious look. "And now that that is done, it's time you fulfilled some of your end of the bargain." She began to step away from the bed, walking past him. "Janos is restored to his prejudiced, bigoted self." The Hylden woman looked back over her shoulder. "And if you want the same for your daughter, you will come with me now. It's time for the Arrow to be found."


	8. 7 The Deep Spider

The two double doors leading into the central chamber moved easily inward as the Seer pushed against them. She strode confidently into the room and then half turned to look back the way she had come with an amused expression, the corner of her lip turned up.

Vorador paused momentarily and then entered after her, his appraising eye taking in everything before him in the dimly lit chamber. She had brought him directly here with no explanation or hint at what to expect. He had been reluctant to leave at first, as he still worried for his sire after Janos had simply taken off after the Seer's verbal assault, but she had left him no alternative. If he was to see Umah restored as Janos was, he would have to do as she requested. There was just no way to avoid it now. He would simply have to trust that the Serioli could find Janos, provided they had time to spare now that they had the implications of flying Hylden to deal with.

When she had revealed to him the caves under the mountains and the labyrinthine complex that lay within them, he had been surprised enough. But she had kept a knowing smile on her face almost the entire time until; finally, she had sprung this room on him and was clearly waiting to see his reaction.

His critical eye and analytical mind took in everything with one sweeping glance. He saw the multi-tiered structure of the room, three levels each ringed with pulsing lamps that dispelled the natural darkness. Each row was lined with dials and switches that were as much arcane as they were technological, each one linked to interior clockwork that seemed to defy his eyes' attempts to trace their path. There were strange markings across their half-moon surfaces that the Vampire did not recognise either.

The ceiling high above was the most anomalous. It was almost like an expanse of the night sky, revealing a multitude of star patterns and astrological pictures that all circled and culminated at the centre. At the apex of this display was a massive, alien-looking construction that had the appearance of a colossal armillary. It hung there, different components slowly turning around several points of axis and emitting a dull humming sound that gently vibrated the air.

At the far end of the chamber on the highest tier there was a large, circular opening. In that opening was a churning vortex of neon blue light that looked very much like water circling down a drain. The swirl of colour was far more profound than that, however. It felt, even from this distance, that particles of the air and dust that floated in it were being pulled into that unfathomable doorway and then sucked away into some unimaginable place.

Vorador stood there, his expression deliberately blank as he silently observed the entire strange panorama. There was, to this room, a sense of complete and utter agelessness, as if the mere concept of objective time simply did not apply here. The feeling was disconcerting.

Absently he noted that there was stonework damage to a section of wall just to his left-hand side. There had been a fierce confrontation here not long ago.

After a moment of anticipatory silence, the Seer turned around to fully face him and her expression was questioning.

"What? No exclamation?" She asked with both eyebrows raised in mock confusion. "No words to express your surprise?" The Hylden woman tilted her head to one side. "I was looking forward to that."

Vorador folded his arms behind his back as was his usual custom and regarded her steadily and with complete and utter calm.

"I prefer to keep my observations to myself." He said flatly. Then, after a moment, he smiled disarmingly and made to her a mocking bow. "And I wait patiently for your assuredly tantalising enlightenment."

The Seer blinked, then tilted her head back and laughed, the rich sound echoing through the chamber despite the machine's alien humming. She continued laughing as she began to walk out around the second tier of the chamber, leaving Vorador to descend several stairs down to the floor. With some distaste he noticed that on the floor of the chamber was the twisting 'Moebius ring' symbol that in ancient times had stood for the Wheel of Fate religion and their sainted demigods, the Divus.

The Hylden woman strode up to one of the dials. She took a hold of its brass handle and gave it a sharp turn to the right. The needle shunted along several points from the centre until its tip pointed to one of the strange symbols.

There was a loud thudding sound, followed by a whoosh of light and noise. The symbol glowed pale green and the clockwork within the walls churned in response to the alteration. Vorador glanced up sharply to see that the device above him began to turn a little faster in response, its humming noise altering in pitch and volume. Parts of the elaborate, arcane machine began to spin faster and almost seemed to reflect a pale, luminescent glow. Something was happening. He could feel energies beginning to build.

The Seer turned her head to face him as she ascended a flight of stairs to the third terrace, making her way over to another dial.

"This is the Chronoplast chamber." She told him in a far more serious voice, gesturing up and around at the room and all its arcane splendour. "It houses the most powerful time streaming device ever created." She reached the dial and took its handle, turning it to the left. The clockwork mechanism groaned in protest at being moved but once the needle had shunted along to its new position, new and arcane energies were released.

The entire chamber reacted in response to the new setting, energies flowing and pulsing in the air and the device directly above in the centre of the ceiling began to twist and turn with increased speed in many directions all at once. Vorador could feel the very air around them twist and slip as some power he could not fathom began to stir.

"If used properly, it can deliver its user to any location within time and space." The Hylden woman continued, nodding with satisfaction up at the machine for its reaction.

The Vampire blinked at this intelligence and then cast another, more appraising eye over the strange mechanism and the chamber that housed it.

"Ah, so here is Kain's little secret." He commented, casting a glance back over the strange, vortex-like doorway at the back of the room. It had not changed in appearance but there was a centre of focalisation, as if all the energies that were building were being directed towards it. "So this is how he and his pet ghoul were able to skip back and forth through the line of events."

Now he recognised this room from the deliberately vague description Raziel had given of the existence of such a place when they had had their little chat in his castle. He supposed Kain must have found this chamber some time after his conquest of Nosgoth and, not content with dominating the world in his corrupted present, had chosen to employ this machine to affect alterations in the timeline. To what end, he could not imagine, but he did not think Kain a simple, opportunistic fool. He would have seen the potential for such a device. Vorador did, too.

The Seer paused on the edge of the highest tier and looked down at him quizzically, her hands resting on her hips.

"What do you have against Raziel?" She asked, sounding genuinely interested. "You seem more vehement against him than Kain, who you might hate more with some justice."

Vorador snorted derisively, keeping his eyes moving around the chamber to observe as the machine continued its strange work.

"His irrepressibly optimistic nature irritates me." He said flatly and with scorn. "He maintains a foolish belief in some innate goodness in people." His expression turned contemptuous and he pulled back his lips over his fangs in a disgusted sneer. "It's as if he hasn't even seen the state of the world and those who dwell in it."

The Seer regarded him for a long moment, looking at him down the length of her nose before she chuckled once to herself and began walking back along the high tier.

"You seem to border on the edge of total nihilism." The Hylden woman commented, descending down the long flight of stairs at the front of the chamber down to his level. She cast him an ironic smile as she walked past. "But you're not fooling anyone." She left him to digest that cryptic remark and its implications and went over to another dial. She didn't turn it yet but instead rested her hand on the handle.

"There is only one time where the Arrow will be accessible." She told him, once again quite serious. "For you to find it, you will have to be there at that moment."

Vorador looked at her sharply, for there could be no misinterpreting her words.

"You mean to send me back in time?" He asked, incredulous at the mere thought of such a fantastically preposterous thing.

"Well over two thousand years into the past." She confirmed with a sharp nod and gave the handle of the dial she was holding a short pat. "More precisely, eighty years before the fall of the Pillars."

He looked between her and the vortex several times, frowning with his scepticism. Despite having been supplied evidence for the existence of some method of traversing the stream of time when the elder and matured Kain had met him at his mansion and assisted in his resurrection, it was difficult to take in the implications of the reality of it before him. He tried to remember events from that far back, over two millennia into the past. Eighty years before the fall of the Pillars? At that time Moebius' mercenary crusade would not yet have begun and the Sarafan Brotherhood would have been disbanded for several centuries. It had been a mini golden age for the Vampires. Still, his frown deepened and he turned to fix the Seer with a piercing stare.

"Why then?" He asked her with heavy suspicion. "And just how do you know the Arrow will be reachable during that period in the first place?"

She met his intimidating glare with one of her own. She was one of the few beings his expressions could not intimidate. He had never seen her afraid of anything. Except for when he had rescued her from the Eternal Prison and she had seen the image of that demonic winged beast conjured up to torment her. She had been afraid of that and nothing else.

"Don't ask questions you know I won't answer, Vorador." She told him flatly, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Just find the Arrow for me and you will have your daughter back."

Vorador was less than appeased by her abrupt tone and lifted one corner of his mouth as if he were going to snarl. He caught himself before he could do such a childish thing and expressed his discontent by merely snorting.

"Once I find this supposed 'Arrow of the Gods', just how do you propose I get back?" He asked her with some scorn. The Seer let a foolish grin cross her lips.

"You could take the long way and simply wait two thousand or so years." She told him with an amused chuckle. Vorador gave off a short derisive laugh in response.

"I'd get very bored having to relive all that again, thank you." He said and made a sharp cutting gesture with one hand, dismissing that idea. The Hylden woman chuckled, reached out and gave his cheek a pat with one hand as if she were reassuring a worried child.

"Once you have uncovered the Arrow, I will know of it." She said a little condescendingly. "I will come and retrieve you." When his hard glare did not change she actually tugged on one of his chin spikes. "Don't you trust me?" She asked mockingly.

"With the games you play?" The Vampire asked rhetorically and batted her hand away from playing with his face. The Seer leaned back against the dial and actually looked surprised.

"Me? Play a game?" She sounded mollified somewhat and looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes that came, with a flash of understanding on his part, from her own deeper knowledge of events that transpired. "Oh Vorador, I'm flattered really." Her smile was radiant. "But I can assure you that I am neither of the chief players in this game." She gestured extravagantly and laid her free hand on her chest. "Like you, Raziel and even Kain, I am merely a chess piece."

Vorador regarded her for a long moment and then smiled faintly, parting his lips to let his fangs show.

"Now who's being nihilistic?" He asked her with deliberate insult. The Hylden woman's expression turned sober and she looked back at him. Silence endured for another stretch between them, the two of them trying to out gaze the other. Then she pushed the dial she was holding to the right without looking at it.

With this third and final dial set in place, the chamber and the device it contained began to suddenly crackle with energy. High above them, the swirling armillary-like machine began to spin faster and faster until its many parts blurred. As it did it began to spark and glare with bolts of golden lightning, sparking and crackling like an arcane tempest. The energy continued to surge, growing stronger and stronger until finally it reached its peak.

Then that energy burst forth in the form of a single bolt. In that bolt was more energy than Vorador could contemplate or even gauge with his senses in the time it was visible. It lanced through the air and struck a strange sigil that Vorador had not even noticed over the top of the vortex doorway. In that moment the energy was delivered down into the vortex.

The portal moaned ethereally and a wave of ghostly light burst forth from that open doorway, pushing out like a rising tide before contracting back in on itself. The portal absorbed the light and began to change the shape of its spiralling tunnel. It began a passage made out of golden light, moving down into some strange glowing depths. It was like nothing Vorador had ever seen before. It was no arcane art he was familiar with. He turned to look at the open portal, his expression of calm and detached indifference slipping in surprise at what he sensed from the doorway. This was no working of elemental lore or some magic spell. This was something completely different, a tunnel punched through time and space.

"Go forth, Vorador." The Seer commanded, pointing imperiously up towards that awesome doorway of temporal light. "Bring back the heritage that was hidden from us all."

Vorador found he had ascended the stairs without realising it and was now standing before the portal, staring down into the depths of time itself. It was a very sobering experience. This was something that, despite his lifespan having encompassed eons, he had never done before. Kain might be comfortable with the method and implication of such temporal violation, but he was not. Surely this required more thought and consideration?

Then the image of Umah rushed into his mind, unbidden. He saw her standing there, her expression questioning and entreating. She seemed to be asking with her eyes alone '**_Why are you hesitating, father?_**' In the face of that question he could not pause for a moment longer. With whatever small, foolish hope he had clutched in his heart, Vorador crossed the threshold.

-0-

**_"That one step had more implications than I could fathom, for in taking it, I crossed over not only immense distance but great time as well. For a brief moment I was suspended, one foot in the present and the other in the past. The nexus of causality swirled around me was stretched across that profound distance._**

-0-

The sensation of pulling and stretching was immense. That one single movement pushed him backwards through time, causality bending to allow him to be permitted to revisit an era which had already come and gone. As he passed through that blinding tunnel of chronological mystery, Vorador had a powerful sense of warped perspective.

As he moved down and down through the ages passing he could almost sense the lives of thousands upon thousands of people in reverse. He could feel them die, live from old age to childhood and then they were born. Generation after generation died and then they were living their lives over before the ones before them did the same. All of that seemed to pass in an objective moment for him but it was a moment he would not soon forget.

The sensation was so powerful and unexpected that he found himself deeply disoriented. His head swam and he seemed to lose his sense of balance. He no longer seemed to be walking but rather tumbling through the temporal vortex. On and on he was swept, going further and further back. Epic events in the time stream seemed to flash before his eyes like fragmented memories. He saw the rise of Kain's imperial symbol above the ruins of the Pillars as his Sanctuary of the Clans was under construction. He saw the battle of Meridian before the gates of Nosgoth's capital city and the decimation of the Vampire army. Then, finally, he saw the hunters of Moebius' bloodthirsty mob knock down the gates to his long forgotten mansion to charge in, in their pursuit of him.

Then there was a bright flash of light and the mists of the vortex seemed to finally clear, as if he had been wandering in a fog. Vorador felt solid ground underneath him but having been so turned about by the experience he stumbled awkwardly before collapsing to his knees. He caught himself before he fell on his face and crouched there, his mind and senses swimming.

After about a minute of dizziness, he felt his sense of balance return and could finally glance up and around at his new surroundings.

-0-

**_"When I regained my senses, I found myself in some dank, forgotten cavern. For a moment I wondered if the Seer had told the truth and I really had traversed the streams of time, or if this had been merely another cruel joke."_**

-0-

He was in some sort of cave. It was almost pitch black in here but a Vampire's eyes could see far better in the dark than a human's. Looking around, he made note of many stalagmites surrounding him, rising up from the floor of the cavern. Their opposing stalactites lanced down from the high ceiling above, almost giving this chamber the appearance of the inside of a colossal mouth with sharp teeth. From somewhere off in the gloom there was the sound of running water, faint as if it were only a trickle, but distinct in the otherwise silent blackness.

Vorador took a few moments to judge his surroundings, a frown creasing his face. If the Seer had been telling the truth and that machine could deliver its user to any time and physical place they wished, why had she chosen to send him into some dank cave?

Holding up one hand, he arched his talons and summoned forth a simple spell. An orb of magically induced light appeared there, hovering above his palm. Like a small moon its light was not very bright but enough to fully illuminate the entire cavern. It was a large chamber with many supporting walls running through it in various places. A short distance from him was a crack in the wall. Through this a steady stream of water was flowing, probably from some underground spring. It was running down through an erosion carved gorge and moving out through a wide opening at the far side of the chamber.

After watching it for a short while, Vorador supposed the water would have to be flowing to an outlet to the outside. It would be his best option to follow it until he came to some opening he could exit these caverns through.

While that seemed logical, it did not prevent the small stream from meandering back and forth across the path of least resistance around larger rocks that took longer to wear down. Its progression proceeded steadily and Vorador had the distinct feeling that as he followed, he was heading down further and further into the twisting cavern system.

If his hope for the stream's course did not play out, he would have to risk a translocation spell. However, that was dangerous if one did not know precisely where one presently was when using it. There was always the danger of moving oneself into a hazardous environment if both original location and intended destination were not firmly in mind. The safest form of translocation was sight to sight, meaning that it was easier to move to a location you could already see from your original position. Such was definitely not the case here.

The tunnels of this cavernous system were not made for convenient exploration. Most of them were narrow and jagged, leaving him unable to see down them, never mind venture beyond. Occasionally he came across patches of a phosphorescent fungus that grew on the walls, attracting small winged insects to it for its nourishment. Those were helpful in determining exactly where he had come from and where he was going. Vorador was no botanist but such creatures and plants he knew were deep dwellers, living down far in the depths of the earth where strong sunlight would not touch them. That did not bode well for his current geographical position.

The river almost seemed to stop following suddenly as he came to an unexpected dead end in the tunnel and Vorador paused to look. After a moment he realized that his first impression had been wrong. The river kept on flowing through a small hole in the rock wall ahead but his own way was barred.

However, the stone barrier before him was not all that substantial. It was made of very loose rock that had simply collapsed down quite recently. Vorador examined the barrier, pushing out with his senses to feel what lay beyond it. The blockage was quite minimal, perhaps only a small section of rubble and merely two feet beyond he could sense an open space. One hand still casting the illumination spell, the Vampire held out the other and gestured. The spell he summoned was one of combustion, a brief explosion of force that he kept tightly under control. He did not wish to bring down any more rubble from the tunnel ceiling. The blast did its work, blowing out the obstruction in a shower of cascading pebbles and small boulders. The stream, which had been restricted by the bottleneck such a barrier had forced it to endure, was now released with one force and flowed on, bubbling happily to itself.

Vorador took two steps into the chamber beyond and then stopped, looking around at this new cavern with narrowed eyes. This chamber was very different from the natural caverns and tunnels he had just traversed. Its floor was perfectly smooth and, as the light reached the ceiling and far walls, he could seethey were also smooth and seamless like the curve of some enormous egg. There were supporting pillars holding up the ceiling in this chamber too but they were clearly not natural. They had been carved, but in an architectural style that Vorador had never seen before. They twisted around each other, wrapping tightly like a rope or taut muscle. That seemed very practical for supporting a heavy weight.

The chamber was very large, so large in fact that the light from his spell could not reach the far end and it was still shrouded in darkness. The water from the stream carried on in a groove for a short distance and then fell down into a circling pit that ringed the outside of the chamber.

Vorador opened his hand wider with the palm facing directly up, increasing the amount of energy flowing to the orb of light. It flared with greater illumination and the entire chamber lit up as if it had been opened to the light of day.

As the new force of light revealed the true extent of the cavern, it revealed a mammoth decorative image drawn right into the curving wall. It was like no mural he had ever seen, a strange mixing of conflicting colours and circular shapes that somehow brought out a cohesive whole.

-0-

**_"I didn't recognise the origin of these displays. Clearly not Human work, nor Vampire or Hylden - as far as I was a judge. This was ancient artistry and I was in a somewhat unique position to judge the true meaning of the word 'ancient'." _**

-0-

The pictures were difficult to decipher as the style was very strange and the curving surface of the cavern cave had the image at a concave angle. Holding up his hand higher so he could see it in more detail, Vorador began a critical study of the image. It had faded with time but much of it was still visible in some detail.

There was some sort of diagram to his left, showing a strange ape-like creature, bent over and balancing on its knuckles. Directly above this beast were three figures that he recognised. There was a Human, a Hylden and a winged Ancient Vampire. Carved lines connected all four images, forming a circle but what this meant Vorador did not know. There were other icons around this diagram that were more rune than drawn image and these were totally alien.

Directly above there was an image that was easy to understand. It was a map, drawn from an excellent bird's eye view of the land. The detail was superb, right down to individual rocks that jutted out of the sea off the coastline and even streams and small ponds. The entire continent of Nosgoth itself, not just the usual central plain on western maps, was detailed here as well. The expanse to the east, the mountains to the north, the cliffs to the west and the jungle peninsula to the south; all were depicted here with immense accuracy. It was perhaps the finest map Vorador had ever seen, far superior to any a human cartographer could produce. Unfortunately it did not identify where this present location was on this display.

The third piece of the decorative display was by far the oddest. It depicted the sun and the moon rising together over the world, which was depicted as an orb floating in the expanse of an immense blackness. Above this display and seeming to be moving towards the world were two images that Vorador did not recognise at all. The first seemed to be a long, snake-like creature with several rowsof long fins along its body and the head of a whale.

The second was a twisting mass, a hideous form that had the appearance of hundreds of tentacles covered with blue eyes around a large central core. Vorador paused at the sight of it. When the Seer had been goading Janos, what was it she had said exactly?

She had said that Kain had showed her the true form of the Wheel of Fate's Oracle god, the being Raziel claimed was their true adversary. She had said that it had looked like, in her own words, a disgusting mass of writhing tentacles. A deformed octopus.

Could this depicted creature, this revolting thing, be God? No, he decided with some odd momentary clarity. Whatever it and its snake-like partner were, the image clearly showed them as arrivals to Nosgoth. Neither of them had created it.

A knowing smile parted Vorador's lips. So, Moebius had been worshipping a giant squid. If he had known that, would his faith have faltered?

It was strange to think about this in so objective terms. Before him was evidence that proved not only the existence of gods, but also hints as to their true natures. The implications of this were astounding. Just what would his sire make of such powerful revelations? He frowned at that, losing his smile. If these images were the facts of the matter, then Janos was going to face a difficult period in his life when the truth was revealed to him.

Directly below this strange picture was another image. Unfortunately this one had suffered some damage and much of it was obscured by cracks and dulled by clogging rock and dirt. It appeared to be a picture of some sort of creature. He could barely make out the proportions, elongated with a long tail and a shorter neck ending in some sort of frilled head. Beyond that the image was simply too damaged to tell him anything more.

Glancing down from his study of the imagery, Vorador noticed that there was a large smooth tunnel exit leading away from this chamber. It caught his attention because there was clearly light coming from somewhere at its far end.

Quickly he made his way across the large expanse of this cavern and noted, as he was passing, deep grooves had been carved in the floor at regular intervals, each about the length of his arm. They had the ominously particular appearance of supremely ancient footprints.

The tunnel was quite short and opened up into another room, smaller than the first but still quite large with a curving egg shape. The light was coming from a crack in the ceiling, through which was shining a faint shaft of sunlight. There was also the smell of fresh air in this room. That crack must have opened quite recently, perhaps due to an earthquake. It helped illuminate the chamber and allowed Vorador to decrease the amount of energy he portioned to his spell.

This new chamber had a gigantic pit in the centre leading down into an abyss so deep that he could not see the bottom. Suspended over this drop was a large contraption that was made out of many metallic pipes leading in and out of the walls. Attached to each pipe was a square plate upon which was an engraved image. However, the images made no sense, as they led off the edge of their plates leaving the whole picture un-viewable. There were also four pressure plates about several feet across set around the outside of the pit, each with a different symbol carved into their surface.

Vorador's eyes, however, were drawn immediately to the large door just to the left-hand side. It was a good thirty feet high and twenty wide and made of pitched grey metal. Somehow, the Vampire sensed that beyond this door was the way up and out of these caverns.

He looked around for some sort of release mechanism. There was no sign of any switch or lever. The door seemed impervious.

-0-

**_"It would seem my way was bared until certain conditions were met. How tedious." _**

-0-

He turned then and looked back with a more critical eye at the strange contraption suspended over the pit. He approached and looked more closely at the metal plates and their engraved lines. As he took longer to observe he saw what he had missed the first time around. The images of the plate were part of a disconnected whole. Like a jigsaw puzzle, once the plates were together in the proper order they would make a single uniform picture.

Vorador glanced down to his right and looked at one of the pressure pads which he had thus far simply ignored as unimportant. Experimentally he pressed it down with one foot. In reaction there was a deep grinding sound of some mechanical device within the walls. Settled dust was discarded from holes in the wall and a set of pipes began to pull backward, moving the plates attached to them backwards and into a different position. At the same time another set moved in the opposite direction and yet even more plates were shifted.

The Vampire frowned in annoyance.

-0-

**_"This puzzle was clearly significant. If I wanted to progress, it would have to be solved."_**

-0-

Clearly he would have to put the plates back into order but the contraption required a great deal of memory and coordination. Each pressure plate moved two sets of pipes back and forth but also disrupted others. In order to put the puzzle back into its proper order each of the plates had to be pressed several times and in the right sequence. It also did not help that Vorador did not know what the image they were meant to display looked like.

Gradually, however, he worked out the process, methodically pressing each pad down and experimenting with different combinations. He learned from any mistakes he made and was adamant about not repeating them.

He perceived that this was a locking mechanism, perhaps designed to keep any but the most learned and intellectual out. Or maybe it was merely a cultural innovation with some special meaning unique to its creators.

He pressed the pressure pad down one final time and watched as the last of the plates shunted into their correct positions. The plates now fit tightly together and, whole in the light from the crack in the roof, Vorador could see that once they were united they formed the image of a colossal spider. All eight legs pushed out to the edges of the combined rectangle.

There was a deep groaning noise from the walls and hidden mechanisms responded to the completion of the puzzle. Vorador could even feel the turning and contracting of the machines in the ground beneath his feet. A loud grating sound began from directly behind him and turning around, Vorador watched as the large metal door which had barred his way began to slide down to the floor. It moved slowly as if the device which operated it was rusty from lack of maintenance, but soon the way beyond was revealed and his path now unimpeded.

-0-

**_"With the spider now whole again, the way out of these dingy caves had finally been opened."_**

-0-

Beyond the doorway there was a third chamber, but this appeared to be the last one. The room was a shaft, rising up high in a jagged spire full of lancing rocks and precipices. Through these obstructions the sky itself was visible, although the top of the shaft was covered by a thick metallic grate which at this distance was hazy and blurred by the flare of the light.

Vorador, however, ignored all of that, despite having found the way out. His attention was taken completely by the central pillar that rose up from the floor before him in a pool of sunlight. He walked towards it, dismissing his illumination spell. With so much natural light there was no need for it.

The standing stone was about three times his own height and made from a strange grey material and sharply angled, like a cut fruit. Engraved onto its surface was the icon of the same spider that he had seen on the plates in the last chamber.

-0-

**_"This obelisk was no ordinary stone erection. There was a subtle power that I could faintly sense; a dormant energy that must have been locked within for centuries. It was totally unfamiliar, an alien galvanism."_**

-0-

The Vampire stopped a short distance away from the stone and looked up, examining its strange dimensions and subtle cravings. The stone itself was clearly not natural either for there was a deep energy, a sort of pocket of magical power sealed within. He could sense that whatever it was, that power had lain there slumbering for a great amount of elapsed time.

Slowly Vorador reached out and laid one hand against the dark stone surface. As soon as he did he felt a sudden and jarring jolt. It passed down his arm and directly into his body, leaving him paralysed for an instant. In that same moment and following just behind that jolt came a shockwave of insight and power.

The trapped energy he sensed within the pillar was feeding directly into him, filling his body with new energies and his mind with instructions.

-0-

**_"As I absorbed the energy I could feel it change me, filling my body and mind with the encapsulated information. In a flash of insight, I understood fully a different form."_**

-0-

It was like employing all the training necessary to understand and learn a new ability within the space of a heartbeat, a fast and powerful education that forced from him a gasp of surprise and even alarm. With an effort of will he tore his hand free of the stone and he staggered back a few steps. But it had already been done. The energy had passed onto him now and had merged with his own powers seamlessly.

Vorador stood there, letting himself feel the new power flow through his body. He already had the ability to turn into a carrion bird and a wolf and the stone had now imparted to him a new form, a third to stand with his set of different shapes.

Without pausing to think, he pictured the new animal in his mind and let himself flow into it. It felt different, having been so used to only the two forms for all these years and the different and superior number of legs were definitely harder to coordinate.

His new form resembled a colossal, pale green wolf spider, about the size of a large dog. Each one of his new eight legs was covered in sensitive hairs that let him feel out the vibrations in the air, sensing movement instantly. In this body he was far more acutely aware of his surroundings than he had ever been before.

Acting on instinct, he began to scuttle across the floor and then up the wall. He effortlessly clung to the surface with his hooked feet and began to climb, moving higher and higher until he reached the first ledge in the shaft. From his vantage point he paused to consider his new form and all of its benefits.

-0-

**_"As unpleasant as it was to adopt the form of a scuttling insect, the spider had abilities that were useful to me. In this form I could scale sheer surfaces with ease and traverse tight, dark corners. I could spin webs to cross large crevices and ensnare enemies from the safety of the shadows. Repulsive, but convenient."_**

-0-

Just what beings had constructed this underground place and then been able to seal away the essence of a creature within stone for him to later absorb? Regardless of the answer, this was most fortuitous as it gave him the ability to ascend the shaft to the outside world. Dancing around on his long legs, Vorador began to ascend the shaft towards the daylight above.


	9. 8 Mentalist

The shaft was far longer than it had appeared from the bottom and many times Vorador had to squeeze his insectoid body through small cracks that his normal form would never have been able to fit through. As he climbed he tested the limits of this multi-legged body, finding it surprisingly quick and agile and capable of far greater jumps then his wolf form.

Another, perhaps stranger, benefit was the use of the silk produced in the large rounded abdomen. It was strong but also pliable, and it seemed this form could produce large amounts of it. When deployed, the silk could make bridges to cross the gaps that the form could not clear on its own and could be used to scale up the sides of vertical surfaces that the spider could not naturally climb. In addition, given to how natural spiders employed their silk, it might prove useful when ambushing and trapping hostile enemies.

Scaling the shaft also took longer as Vorador was still experimenting with the abilities of the form and it took some time to really feel out the best way to move with the body of an invertebrate. The eight legs required precision and concentration so that he did not trip over them when attempting to walk. He was glad no one was around to witness the embarrassing display of his flailing legs as he attempted to walk in a straight line.

Eventually he reached the top of the shaft and as he did, it started to rain. Thick drops of water came pouring down through the gasp in the covering grate. While such insubstantial water as common rain did not scorch him as it would a fledgling, the downpour did make clinging to the walls in this form very difficult. To avoid being washed away like a bug down a drain pipe, Vorador quickly shifted back into his normal form. His feet came down on the edge of a rocky precipice and using this as a lever, he began to push up grasping the grate in both hands. With one tense heave, the metallic covering pushed up with a protested groan of rusty hinges.

Climbing up out of the shaft, Vorador pulled himself up and away from the edge. The top of the shaft opened out into some sort of copse, surrounded by tall hills and towering stones that blocked the view of the horizon. There was long tall grass and reeds all around, surrounded by a grove of aspen trees each with a thick covering of healthy green leaves. Vorador stared at the sight for a moment, taking it in. He had not observed plants this healthy for centuries. Most vegetation in the era of Kain's dominion had either been dead or dying.

Not only was the flora strong and vital but sitting on a branch of one of the trees and looking directly at him was a large brown owl. Its wide saucer eyes stared him unblinkingly as its head twisted back and forth. In one foot it held a plump, struggling field mouse which it had caught. After it had stared its fill at the Vampire, the owl turned its attention back to its prey and began to tear off bits of flesh from the rodent, not even bothering to kill it first.

Owls and other large birds of prey, with their food supply dwindling to near mothering, had been extinct in Nosgoth for centuries. So seeing one alive boded well.

The sky above was lead grey with rainclouds and growing darker by the minute. This was not just due to the coming of a storm but somewhere the sun was beginning to set. There was a bright flicker in the clouds off in the distance, somewhere over the rise of rocks and boulders that sheltered the corpse. A few moments later there was the boom of thunder.

Very carefully Vorador began reaching out with his senses trying to feel for familiar places and landmarks in order to get his bearings. He found that difficult. Much of Nosgoth had changed over the years that if indeed this was the past, then the tell tale markers he was so used to would not yet be in place.

He was however able to sense in which direction was north. That gave him some sense of orientation but for a proper means of indentifying his present position he would need more. The best way to accomplish this was with a bird's eye view. Effortlessly he translocated himself to the top of the larger hillock overshadowing the grove. The owl gave a startled hoot, dropped the rest of its kill and flew off quickly in response.

Standing on top of the hill, Vorador turned around to survey the view. He saw instantly that the raised ground was only a hill from one side and on the far end it dropped away, descending into a steep cliff that ran for some distance to the north and south. Beyond that was the wide expanse of Nosgoth's central plain.

But instead of the dead featureless wasteland he was now used, to, before him was a lush and verdant realm. The waters flowed clear and pure in many rivers and the forests rolled out like a strong carpet of green. Far to the south was a large body of water which Vorador recognised immediately. It was the Lake of Tears, undiminished by time. Much was obscured by the falling sheets of rain but even this one glance was enough to reveal the vitality of the world.

Quickly the Vampire glanced off towards the south and east and sure enough through the haze, he saw them. Nine, white, pure pins of marble lanced from the ground to pierce so high into the sky that if they had any end it was lost in the heavens. The Pillars of Nosgoth stood high and proud, uncorrupted and strong. They were no longer the stumps that Kain was usurped as the throne for his ridiculous empire but were once more the arcane locks of creation, as they were intended.

-0-

**_"So the Seer had not lied and that arcane chamber had done as advertised. I had indeed been swept back to a previous era. Nosgoth lay before me, a true Nosgoth, full of its lost exuberance and the Pillars themselves pure in the distance. Now, I understood why Kain had employed that strange time streaming chamber. If I had had access to the ability to return to the youth of the world, I would have been tempted too."_**

-0-

Vorador simply stood there for a long time just staring at it all, taking it all in. This was the Nosgoth he remembered and enjoyed, so long ago now, a world overflowing with the life which the coming centuries would bleed out all so slowly. He was not sentimental but the sight of the restored land was enough to make him pause and bask in an alien sense of pride and reverence. Somewhere out there, most likely lurking in the manor house hidden by the Termagant Forest, was his own younger self. If it were wise, or even possible given his understanding of the mechanics of time travel, he would have gone there to inform his younger counterpart to enjoy the vitality of this world while he had the chance.

Quickly though, he pushed his partly melancholy ruminations aside. He had not come back through time to simply admire the view. He had much to do now if he were going to find this supposed 'Celestial Arrow', wherever it might lie.

The Seer had not said where precisely to find this artefact, only that he was now in the correct time to do so. Unfortunately Vorador doubted he had the time to systematically search every square inch of the world until he discovered the elusive thing. Just how was he going to go about doing this? Logic suggested that he go to sources of ancient lore to do some research, such as the libraries and universities of Stalhberg. It was a flimsy hope, given how truly ignorant human society had been, especially in this time, but it was all he had to work with.

He held out both arms wide and began to shift in the familiar form of the Raven, a much more comfortable alternative body than the spider. Once he was wearing his feathers he quickly took to the air, much to the continued startled dismay of the circling owl, and began flying out over the cliff. That proved to be a mistake as the storm began to really pick up almost at once, blowing him up really high and into the rolling clouds themselves.  
Angry that he had not taken the storm winds into consideration before taking flight, Vorador began to dive. Flying in the midst of storm clouds, with lightning sparking back and forth was never a good idea. He chose to think that he was still disoriented from temporal displacement rather than simply forgetting the very basics.

As he descended out of the clouds he found he had been blown some distance east. Almost directly below him was a curving stretch of water, a marshy link between the lake of tears and the lake of the dead. Built on the only solid stretch of land was a large hamlet, with buildings made from stone and the local pine woods. The slate roofs were slick with the falling rain. Along the banks of the curving nearby river there were huts and fishing nets, strung out to shift through the running waters to catch the salmon that made the effort to swim upstream from the ocean to the safety of the marsh to lay their eggs. In such rain a few figures were down on the banks of the river, or drifting out in small boats to try and bring in a catch while the weather was ideal for fishing.

Vorador recognised the crude settlement almost immediately. It had been some time since its destruction in objective causality but he knew this place to be Vasserbünde, a town built to supply the fortress built atop the cliffs nearby.

On that thought he turned in mid air and looked back towards those cliffs. From this angle he saw it perfectly. The river was primarily fed by a pounding water wall that fell from those cliffs and the origin of the walls was the jawless mouth of a colossal stone skull. The fortress was mostly built into the cliffs but the facade of the skull glared down from its perch to the town and surrounding countryside below.

The skulls eyes were covered by curving sockets of green glass, illuminated from within by a strange eldritch glow. Its dome like crown was ringed by patterns which even at this distance, looked like Ancient Vampire runes. Clearly they had been adapted from those at the Pillars ceremonial base, with no real understanding of their true meaning. Surrounding the skull on the cliff itself were six towering columns, each constructed in the manner of cathedral spire.

In conjunction with the skull imagery, it gave the fortress a very macabre appearance. Some uninformed and ignorant villager might be pardoned for believing that the personification of death lived here. Vorador however knew the true, Ancient Vampire, meaning behind some of the imagery. The skull protected the mind within and the six spires around the outside were meant to symbolise the virtues of mental prowess recognised by the Ancient Vampires; deduction, speculation, rationality, logic, imagination and judgement. While the fortress may have been made by humans, its architects had been the Ancients without them ever realising it.

-0-

**_"While I was not was well travelled as Kain, I recognised this land mark easily enough. This was the skull adjourned fortress retreat of the Mentalist Nupraptor, Member of the Circle of Nine and Guardian of the Pillar of the Mind. It had been his corrupting madness that had poisoned the Circle and set the chain of events in motion that would suck Nosgoth dry. Given the healthy state of the world, I had clearly arrived before any of that was due to happen."_**

-0-

Vorador poised in mid air, coasting on a brief calm respite in the storm to study the large skull like castle, considering the implications. In time, when Nupraptor's madness would drive him to seal up his eyes and lips, this retreat would become a place of death, despair and agony. Those who ventured inside never returned. But given that he had arrived before any of that took place, this fortress would be filled with servants and guardsmen, hired to administer and protect the abode of the illustrious Mentalist.

-0-

**_"While it might have been safer to simply leave, my arrival here was serendipitous. The Seer had provided no further explanation of this so called 'Celestial Arrow', but if anyone in Nosgoth were to know of such an artefact it would be a member of the Circle of Nine."_**

-0-

The members of the Circle would indeed be privy to information not available to others academic sources, handed down from the older Guardians to the younger. Of course he did not expect he could simply walk up to the stronghold of such a prominent Mage and knock the door. He would have to find some other entrance into that place and employ stealth tactics. He did not imagine that Nupraptor himself would be much of a physical challenge, given that he had been Kain's first victim in his now ancient effort to cleanse the Circle. If a fledgling with a sword could best Nupraptor, Vorador did not expect he would find him a problem.

He did not however want to directly challenge the Circle or any member of it. If he was brutally honest with himself, he would admit that his decimation of six members of the Guardian Circle had been mostly due to the fact that he had taken them by surprise and Malek had not been there to protect them. He would have no such luxury here. If threatened, any Circle member would summon Malek from his icy Bastion to defend them if they could not use their own powers. Nupraptor was going to have to be approached diplomatically.

The main entrance to this fortress was an artificial cave that opened out at the base of the cliff, providing easy access for supplies from the nearby town. Vorador did not want to entry that way. It was likely to be guarded.

In his raven form, he dropped below the top of the cliff. It shielded him from the worst of the winds and allowed to him circle lazily. It was on his third pass when he saw what he thought might be a way inside. The nasal passage of the giant stone skull as not just some stylized decoration. It was a small hole that seemed to function as a means of ventilation for the interior.

Landing as a raven on the edge of the skull's eye socket, Vorador blurred back into his regular form and latched onto the stone with the talons on one hand. There was a flash and almost immediately another crackle of thunder broke overhead. The storm was getting closer. Briefly he studied the nose hole, judging its side. As lubricous as it seemed, entering the nose of the skull was indeed the safety way to enter the fortress unobserved.

To that end, he began to shift into the new form of the spider. It was easier to do the second time and seemed somewhat more natural. Once he was fixed in the body of the giant arachnid, he quickly began to scurry across the face of stone skull before the rain could wash him off. The nasal passage was just large enough to fit his multi-legged form through, squeezing and pushing until it found himself inching up through the tight passage beyond. Grimly he pressed on until he same to the end of the compact tunnel. It opened out almost immediately into a large, artificial stone chamber. The purpose of this room was evidentially clear from the aqueducts and pipes that filled it. The water that ran down the falls was directed through large copper tanks which purified some of it and let the rest flow on. It was very practical, ensuring that the fortress would have an unlimited supply of fresh and clean drinking water.

The pipes suspended from one wall to the other clanked and rattled as the access water from the rain ran through them. The system seemed to be entire automated, not requiring constant supervision, so the chamber was empty of people. However as Vorador squeezed himself into the chamber and shifted back into the chamber, an iron door on the far side of the room opened and a tall man in a robe entered. He was carrying a large box which clanked as he walked.

Vorador acted instantly. He was across the chamber in the space of a moment and Marrow was in his grasp. The man would only have managed to register a blur of movement before the curving blade buried itself in his heart. To silence the echo of his death scream, Vorador clamped a hand over the man's mouth. Blood gushed forth and the Vampire opened his mouth, summoning the life giving liquid to him. Obediently it leapt from the wound to flow down his throat, restoring energies he had neglected to replenish for some time.

The man died with a muffled moan and fell slack, the box falling from his grasp. Its lid flipped open on impact with the floor and several large metal tools spilled out. It would seem he had merely come into this room to see if he could do something about the noise the pipes were making. Pity it had been at just the wrong time. If he had put off his attempt at plumbing for five more minutes he would have been spared.

Once he was done feeding, Vorador dragged the body off towards the brass tanks. One of them he found was disconnected from the pipes, perhaps a spare, and empty. He unceremoniously dumped the corpse into it. It would be quite some time before the body would be discovered, which gave him time to survey the fortress without fear of an alarm being raised.

Nupraptor had filled his abode with all manner of artwork. He had frescos painted on ceilings, mosaics across the walls and marble statues sculpted by highly skilled artisans standing in galleries to be marvelled at leisure.

While the opulence and displayed wealth might seem impressive to the pedestrian eye, Vorador, who considered himself as have far better taste, viewed the classing artistry and styles as little more than extremely tacky. There was no attempt to correlate the styles into a whole and so it gave the retreat the appearance of a museum of artwork and even on that basis, Vorador found it nauseating on the eyes.

There was one thing he did approve of though, which was the truly and undeniably splendid display of stained glass. There were several rooms where light was refracted from outside to shine through many different shifting patterns to create a beautiful kaleidoscopic effect. The patterns cast all had different meanings, which challenged their viewers on subtle emotional, logical and philosophical levels.

Servants infested the hall of the retreat. As was due a member of the Circle, Nupraptor had a great deal of attendants to carter to his every need. He had cooks in his multi-tiered kitchens to provide the best cuisine in Nosgoth, chambermaids to pay heed to any whim and even butlers who ran the administrative side of the fortresses upkeep.

Chambers were set aside for visiting pilgrims. Nupraptor's reputation in this time was such that many came to hear his supposed wisdom. In these rooms visitors could be brought food and drink while they waited for their scheduled appointment. Fortunately no pilgrims had recently come and these rooms were presently empty.

Stealing into Nupraptor's private suite was relatively easy, despite the two armed guards at every entrance. These were hired mercenaries rather than devote bodyguards and so were not really paying attention to their duty. As such it was easy to find a pair which was so bored that their wandering minds were easy to misdirect. Holding their dulled senses in his mind's grasp, Vorador quite openly walked right up to them. The two guards ignored him completely as he walked between them, pushed the door open and entered the inner rooms.

The inner chambers were far more appropriately decorated. The walls, floor and ceiling were covered in sheets of pristine white marble. There were several chambers all connected in a ring around a central darker stone pillar. Some rooms were lower than others, requiring a curving set of stairs and a terrace in order to connect with each one.

The room Vorador had entered was a study, with large stone crevices housing books and scrolls of many sizes. More of the frescos decorated the walls, depicting scenes from ancient history that Vorador recognised. The most prominent of which was a scene revealing the siege of the old Ancient Vampire Citadel. The humans though were depicted all with golden illuminating halos around their heads and the Vampires were all bat like creatures, stylised to appear as if they were summoned demons from hell. There was no mention in these images of the rapid mutant hounds the human rising had employed.

Through a doorway Vorador could see into a longue type chamber filled with divans, deeply stuffed pillows and metallic tables on which rests crystal goblet half filled with a deep red wine. As he moved closer, Vorador could hear voices echoing.

"I honestly do not know what to do." A male voice said in a tired tone. "Clearly I need to take some action, but I am at a loss."

Vorador began to move slowly, keeping himself to the side of the wall. Discreetly he peered around the corner. There were two figures in the room. The nearest, leaning against the table and examining the wine in her hand, was a stunningly beautiful woman even by simple human standards. She was elegantly proportioned and creamy unblemished skin. Her golden blonde was long, left to flow behind her hanging to her waist. Her eyes were an unearthly lavender and almost seemed to glow faintly, although that might have been a trick of the flickering light from the fire breathing on the hearth off to one side. Her pale green dress was taken in expertly at several key locations to show off the extraordinary body she had and yet was somehow still modest.

"No ideas spawn in that wonderful brain of yours?" She asked in mock criticism in her musical voice that despite its youthful strength was tinged with the telltale traces of a mature wisdom.

The second figure was by far the more visually striking. He was a squat man with wide shoulders from which hung concealing blue robes of varying shades, embroidered with darker blue symbols of a pseudo magical nature. His knee length boots were black leather and strapped to his legs.

What really set him apart however was his distinctive and unique body structure. Four bony structures like mutated ribs jutted up out of his back and continually flickered with some eldritch power. The weirdest part of his body was the head. The cranium was enlarged greatly to nearly twice the normal size of an ordinary head. The skin was drawn tight across the skin giving it a stretched appearance. From deep within the head there seemed to emit a pulsing green glow, radiating out like the glow of phosphorescent fungi. Seeing that, Vorador almost did not pay attention to his face with its high cheekbones and short dark neck beard. That enlarged glowing head was more than enough to identify him as Nupraptor the Mentalist, Guardian of the Pillar of the Mind.

"Not many, my love." He said, turning to look at the woman. His expression was clouded with great concern and he even looked tired, as if he had not slept in days. "Their immunity from my powers is troubling and given the size of their loyal forces, I cannot simply overpower them."

Vorador glanced back sharply to the woman. By Nupraptor referring to her as 'my love' could only make her one person. She was Ariel, the former Balance Guardian before Kain.

The two of them together, Ariel and Nupraptor, would form the epic romantic tragedy that would poison the land and set in motion the chain of events that would rock the universe.

"You'd need an army of your own." She said, before pausing to sip from her glass. "Why not ally yourself with King Robert of the North? He makes war in their lands." She then suggested. Nupraptor frowned and shook his head.

"I do not trust his bloodline." He said, folding his arms across his chest. He turned and looked into the fire. "I would prefer to seek the aid of another Circle member, rather than that of mundane men."

Ariel regarded him for a long moment, then finished the wine in her glass and strode across the room to him. Her gait was strong and confident but did not lack in feminine grace. It was the stride of a woman fully secure in her position of authority and not afraid to show it.

"But I don't suppose any you asked were willing to assist?" She asked, coming to his side and tracing one arm over his shoulders. Nupraptor's frown deepened and a faint look of disgust passed over his face.

"No." He replied. "I spoke with Azimuth, Anarcrothe and DeJoule and they all fobbed me off with obvious excuses." He unfolded his arms and wrapped one around her waist, holding her body to his as if seeking comfort.

"DeJoule was clearly too busy with the lecturers at Stalhberg, teaching them about alternating current." He explained with a sigh. "Anacrothe had his greasy hands in the middle of some experiment involving a blend of sulphur and nitrogen." He curled one lip in distaste and then managed an ironic smile. "And the less I say about Azimuth's private indulgences with the council of high priests of the Avernus Cathedral, the better."

Ariel drew in her breath sharply and her eyes widened, one hand going to her lips in her surprise.

"No!" She gasped, staring into her beloveds face. After a moment of silence her eyes widened even more. "All ten of them at once?" She asked. Nupraptor simply let his smile widen in response. "Oh my..." She ran a hand over her face. "She will not make herself popular with the faithful, prudish citizenry if that ever gets out."

The Mentalist chuckled lightly.

"Then they ought to train priests who take that 'chastity' pledge seriously." He commented in dry amusement. Then he sighed. "I got so desperate then I even asked Moebius for assistance." Ariel stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, leaning on his shoulder for support. After a moment of frowning annoyance, Nupraptor smiled too.

"I know; I ought to have known better." He admitted. After she had taken the time to collect herself, Ariel paused to adopt a thoughtful expression.

"Bane might help." She said and stepped away from him. "His powers are formidable." The Mentalist released her and considered, resting one hand on the edge of his chin.

"If I can find him." He remarked. Ariel smiled in understanding at her lover and raised her hands before her chest. Vorador recognised the motion as the beginning of a spell.

"I wish you well, Nupraptor." She announced, a tad formally. "I would hate to see this brought up when the Circle meets at the Pillars for winter solstice council." Nupraptor nodded sharply in firm agreement.

"Yes, no need to give Mortanious any more reason to scold the younger Guardians for any foolishness." He said, rolling his eyes. Ariel grinned back at him.

"My thought exactly." She agreed. "Keep me informed, my beloved." Between her hands emerged a ball of light. It grew and grew until it surrounded her entire being. Then, she disappeared, fading into her translocation spell.

Alone now, Nupraptor turned back to the fire. He took up a bronze poker from the side and began pressing the less burned logs back into the flames. Once this was done and the fire was roaring again he turned and seated himself in a large chair. Raising one hand he gestured imperiously and the crystal decanter and goblet rose from the table. Suspended by the use of his profound telekinetic powers, they floated across the room to him and began pouring him wine by themselves. Once the goblet was filled he took it one hand.

Vorador was about to move, when the Mentalist began to speak.

"When do you want to come out and talk to me directly?" He asked and now he was speaking to his uninvited guest, as if he had always known exactly where he was. "Pilgrims often come, seeking me out for my 'wisdom'." His tone was slightly ironic. Then he turned to look back over the armrest, smiling beatifically. "I'm sure I can fit you in."

The Vampire paused for a long moment, pondering his next move. If he moved quickly, perhaps he could escape before Malek was summoned. But this had been a calculated risk to even come here in the first place. Deciding to chance it, Vorador strode out openly into the room. He did however keep one hand close to the hilt of Marrow at his side. He was confident he was faster than even the Mentalist's mind and could clear the gap between them instantly should the need arise. He was not fooled by Nupraptor's welcoming nature for he knew that could drop away in an instant. Any member of the Circle of Nine was not to be underestimated.

"I didn't see a clerk with whom I could make an appointment." He remarked, approaching at a slow and steady pace. He did not want a violent confrontation if it could be avoided. Fortunately, unlike both Kain and Raziel, he was quite skilled in diplomacy. He kept his stance relaxed and nonthreatening as he came to a stop, just within the range of the light of the hearth's fire.

"I'd free my social calendar for so illustrious a visitor." Nupraptor replied, looking his visitor appraisingly. "So, you are the infamous Vorador, the blood sucking demon of the Black Forest." He was a little sarcastic.

"Nupraptor." The Vampire said with a nod in greeting, regarding the complacent Mentalist with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you concerned, having a Vampire of such dark renown so close to you?" He asked flatly. "After what I did to your predecessor?"

Nupraptor dismissed that with a flick of one hand.

"I never knew the man and from all reports, I doubt I would have liked his company." He reached up and tapped the side of his large cranium with one finger. "If you had intended me personally any harm, I would have perceived that the moment you came within range of my senses."

Vorador smiled wryly. Nupraptor, despite his augmented intelligence, seemed to share Raziel's naivety.

"I might take it suddenly into my head to perform another cleansing of the Circle." He suggested in dry amusement. "Does that not worry you?"

Nupraptor folded his arms, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair and appeared all non concern.

"Why would you do such a thing, now?" He asked with some puzzlement. "The era of the Sarafan is long over and the Circle has ceased to support Moebius' engrained vendetta against your kind." He rolled his eyes heavenward. "If the man wants to continue his crusade he will have to do without the consent of the rest of us."

Vorador's expression turned flat for he knew the history of events that was to come.

"That will be short lived." He remarked. Nupraptor eyed him sidelong.

"You're bitter." He accused.

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Over the death of Janos Audron?" The Mentalist asked shrewdly and pulled himself up out of his chair, gesturing back towards the table. The decanter and goblet quickly floated back to their usual places.

"It was not just Janos." Vorador admitted after a moment of silence and he could not keep the angry resentment out of his voice. "The Sarafan, with the full backing of the Circle, had killed many friends and loved ones." He took a deep breath. "Janos had simply been the last straw." Then he flicked his eyes back to Nupraptor. "If you can read my mind, you know why I'm here." He said in an almost accusatorial voice.

Nupraptor spread his hands and shrugged.

"Surprisingly, I actually can't." He admitted with no small reluctance. "Your mental barriers are too acute. I can sense only vague generalities from you, rather than the complex thoughts of others." He looked Vorador in the eye. "But you seek something from me; that is perfectly clear." Vorador nodded once. The pleasantries and banter were over and now it was time to get down to business.

"I require information, about an artefact lost eons ago." He said. "The Celestial Arrow." Nupraptor's eyebrow raised and his back straightened in apparent startled dismay. The bony spines growing out behind him crackled with an additional flow of energy.

"The Arrow?" He repeated and sounded genuinely surprised. Vorador knew then that he had come to the right place.

"Then you know of it?" He asked, trying to hide his eagerness.

"Of course." The Mentalist replied, frowning and looking thoughtful. "All members of the Circle know of that fairy tale." He ran his fingers through his short beard and stared off into space, lost in memories. "The knowledge was passed down by the original Guardians, one of those little arcane secrets we're supposed to jealously guard."

"Well, what exactly is the Arrow?" Vorador queried, prompting him when the Guardian of the Mind was quiet for a long moment. Nupraptor blinked and looked back at him and this time his eyes were wary.

"Like I said, it's a jealously guarded secret." He said somewhat defensively.

"Is it likely to impact you or the Circle in any way?" Vorador asked flatly in return.

"No." He admitted.

"Then why conceal?"

Nupraptor pause and then shrugged again.

"Tradition I suppose." He confessed but then smiled wickedly. "But then again I've never been one for tradition." Despite himself, Vorador found himself actually liking Nupraptor. Unlike Raziel, the Mentalist tempered his naive outlook with a wicked and often depraved sense of humour. The Guardian took a moment go gather his thoughts before beginning.

"The story goes that the Arrow is an instrument of tremendous destructive potential." He said. "It is said to be a blasphemous weapon and reputed to so acutely deadly that it has the potential to harm even God Himself." He rolled his eyes at the piety innate in the legend and then gave Vorador a more appraising look. "And a Vampire comes looking for it?" He asked as if to himself. "Seems appropriate."

Vorador absorbed his words and mulled them over.

"A weapon to wield against the Gods?" He puzzled out load. If the Seer and Raziel were correct in their words that the true enemy that caused all the ills of Nosgoth was the being Moebius had called 'God' then such a weapon would be of immense value. While this notion appealed, Vorador was not stupid. "Too convenient and simple." He added in an angry mutter. It was not going to be as easy as simple finding a deus-ex-machina to turn against the entities that claimed to be deities. Besides, if that was all she required the Arrow for then the Seer would have simply said so, not covered her words with cryptic meaning. He felt as if were being obtuse and missing something obvious that would explain her motives but whatever it was escaped him.

"But regardless, where might I find it?" Vorador asked, deciding that he would let the Seer work out her own method of utilising what he found for her, so long as she did as promised. Nupraptor gave him an exasperated sort of look.

"You think if we knew that the Circle would permit such a terror to remain poised, like the blade of a hanging guillotine?" He asked. Vorador flinched slightly. He had never been found of the mere word 'guillotine' for obvious reasons. It brought up unpleasant memories. Nupraptor did not seem to notice and carried on. "The Arrow was said to be hidden away in the bowls of an ancient complex, a concealed labyrinth older then either the Pillars..." He paused significantly giving Vorador a strange look. "... or the Vampires."

Vorador wondered silently to himself, just how much of the ancient history and the origin of the Pillars did Nupraptor actually know? Moebius and Mortanious, who had physically been there, would know of course. But what knowledge did the younger guardians possess about the places they occupied? The Mentalist continued.

"It is an abandoned ruin, rather unimaginatively but aptly, referred to as the 'Lost City'." He said with some humour.

-0-

**_"It had been some time since I had heard of that old story. Eons ago there had been a legend about a city filled with unearthly treasures, piles of gold and heaps of jewels. The story had been told in taverns often enough for a few decades, inspiring many a treasure hunter to go out in search of the City and its fabled riches. Interest in the legend had swiftly died when no trace of it had ever been found."_**

-0-

Vorador scowled in indignation. The Lost City was little more than a piece of country bumpkin folklore, a bed time story for children. A supposed abandoned capital of a collapsed empire, containing riches the likes of which men had never seen. Tales had once abounded with descriptions of mountains of gold just waiting for some brave adventurer to come and claim it. Vorador had not heeded such stories as he had never heard such a ludicrous tale of nonsense before. It had seemed to him little more than wishful thinking combined with lurid and misspent imaginations.

If these revelations were correct then the fabled city was indeed more than a fairy tale and far more significant than a simple horde of hidden treasure. What sort of builders could construct a weapon capable of harming Gods, or even beings claiming to be Gods?

"And I suppose no one knows where it is?" He asked. Nupraptor laughed and gave him an amused look.

"That is what the word 'lost' means, does it not?" He quipped and Vorador narrowed his eyes at him dangerously for the jibe. The Mentalist ignored the irritation and continued on. "All I can tell you is that the Original Guardians thought that the city was located somewhere far to the east, beyond the mountains and the realm of Willendorf." He gestured vaguely in that direction.

Vorador blinked and then ran one hand over his face, suppressing a groan of frustration and annoyance.

"That land is formed of vast plains, jagged mountains ranges and a near endless swamp. That does not narrow it down very much." He tried to not to sound like he was complaining as that was infantile in his opinion.

"Well then, the one who sent you to find this Arrow ought to have given you more information to work with." Nupraptor remarked. While he might not be able to read the Vampire's mind he might be able to sense his frustration with the Seer's concealment and cryptic meanings.

"Undoubtedly." He agreed in a flat tone. Nupraptor took two steps away from him.

"The east is currently in great turmoil." He advised the Vampire and raised his hands to chest level, cupping his hands around one another. "Perhaps, during the chaos, some clue to the Lost City will be unearthed?" A pale orb of light appeared between his fingers and it began to swiftly expand, enveloping his body. As the Mentalist disappeared into the midst of his translocation spell, his voice echoed back. "But if I were you, I would not dawdle."

A few moments later, after Nupraptor had vanished, a section of the wall on the far side of the chamber shifted. It pushed back and then swung side, revealing a concealed path to an outside terrace. The rain was still pouring down outside and a flash of lightning dancing along the horizon. That was clear enough. The interview was over and he was being politely asked to leave.

Beyond lay the continuation of his journey, the wide unmapped lands of the east.


	10. 9 Royal Prodigy

Note: Please leave encouraging words for my editor, who just got out of hospital. End of Note.

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The LostCity was a legend. It was said that somewhere in the world was the capital of an extinct race with massive piles of hoarded treasure. Vorador had always assumed that such stories had referred to the forgotten Citadel of the Ancient Vampires, but apparently that was not the case. And there was the enigma. If the LostCity had not been built by Vampires...nor humans...and definitely not Hylden either...then just who had made it?

Dimly he recalled his ancient conversation with Moebius once more. The Eternal Prison, he had said, was not made by any of the three races. What special, fourth race had there ever been?

The storm broke after a few hours, heading south and fading over the coastline. The resulting rising air currents were ideal for long-distance flying. Coasting on those streams of air, his black feathers rustling in the wind, Vorador flew high over the land. From his superior viewpoint, he beheld the true extent of the glorious past. The central plain of Nosgoth was wide and fertile, which is why most large civilisations, both human and others, had chosen to settle here. The many powerful rivers from mountain runoff fed the thick forests, swamps and rolling fields.

The snapping cold in the air showed that winter was beginning and as Vorador flew on east, the clouds began to grow thicker and thicker overhead. Covering such distance on foot could have taken him several days or weeks. On the wing he was able to cover the leagues in less than half that time.

As he passed over the small ridge of mountains just to the north of the GreatSouthernLake, it began to snow. Small flakes at first, hardly more than a light dusting. When he saw the Lake of Serenity in the distance and turned northeast towards the far greater mountains, a true blizzard began. The wind howled and the flakes grew heavy in the air, obscuring everything in a sheet of white.

Soon it became hard to see anything beyond a few feet. Faced with these conditions, Vorador was forced to land. He swooped down low to the top of a small hillock and blurred back into his own form. Even on the ground it was hard to tell exactly where he was. The blizzard had near instantly covered everything in a blanket. All the trees and ground were snow clogged and the flakes were only growing heavier. This would be a very cold winter, he judged. This blizzard would only be the first of many, covering the land in deep snow until the spring warming thawed it out.

He sensed he was just to the north of Willendorf, which in this era was still in its prime. He did not want to run into their soldiers, given that he judged he was still within their borders. The fabled 'Lion of Willendorf', the royal family personified, was a pious entity and would not tolerate Vampires in their lands.

Flying over the mountains in this weather was simply out of the question. The winds would dash him to pieces against the rocks. He was going to have to proceed on the ground, but certainly not in this form. He would need one with the stamina and strength to cross that distance. Holding the image of the wolf in his mind, he slipped himself into it.

The lupine form was excellent for covering ground, even in such thick piling snow. An added bonus would be that if he were sighted by any humans, they would stay well back. Few would confront a wolf lest it summon its pack down upon them. Running on all fours, Vorador bolted down the sides of hills and through the trees.

Once, a deer crossed his path. It bolted as soon as it saw him and for a moment, the canine instinct that came with the form demanded that he dash it down. He suppressed the impulse and carried on, running nonstop for at least a day and night. He had pushed his body quite hard and expended some energy to make such good time. He was going to have to feed soon to replace it.

Soon, however, he came across a road. It was paved with lanterns hung at regular intervals and showed signs of frequent use. It was probably the northern trading road out of Willendorf. It ran parallel to the mountains and was used more often by ore carts from the Provincial Mines than by the merchants.

This ordinary landmark, however, gave Vorador better confirmation of his bearings and a better route to follow. Turning north he began to gallop through the trees on one side of the road, keeping it to his left. Following such a path would lead him to a large mountain pass which he knew was the only safe route to take to reach the East.

On his way he came across several encampments of humans. Most of them were trading posts along the highway, stops where travelling traders and merchants could water their animals and do a bit of commerce before they reached their ultimate destination. These camps were protected by log walls and hired mercenaries, most of them armed with swords, axes or crossbows. Sulphur was known, of course, but gunpowder had not yet been made so mortars, such as those used by Moebius' army in eighty years, were still two generations away from invention.

Vorador bypassed most of the encampments, except for the last one. It was smaller and less heavily defended, perhaps being so close to the end of the road it did not need large provisions or guards to protect it. Here Vorador stopped and shifted back into his normal form. Often people stopped at such places for refreshment and that was exactly what he had in mind.

The snow worked with him this time, allowing him to slide from tree to tree as he approached the camp. It was merely a few tents surrounded by stakes. There were five guards, most of them huddled in furs and keeping close to a fire. There was one, however, that was taking his turn at patrol, walking about the outside of the camp while tapping his sword against his right leg.

Vorador silently approached him. While the snow obscured vision it did make his footsteps crunch. Perhaps the man heard him for he began to turn just as Vorador made his lunge. Havoc and Malice came arching up swiftly. Malice smashed its blade into his face with a sickening cracking sound, the head caving in with a shower of skull fragments and brain matter. Havoc crunched into his chest, slicing in deep until it punctured the heart.

The man died instantly but Vorador was already feeding, summoning the blood from the gaping wounds down his throat. The flow restored his lost energies and lent him new strength. He took only what he needed and began to quickly drag the body into the trees, obscuring his footprints. The sound would have alerted the other guards. Once he was out of sight he butchered the body further with his talons to disguise the obvious axe blade wounds.

The guards came running and when they saw the trail of blood in the snow they began to follow, each holding a weapon. Vorador could easily have killed them all but did not want to waste time when he had other things to attend to. He slipped into the form of the wolf and while he was still out of sight, smeared himself with blood from the ruined corpse.

Then he leapt out from behind the trees, snarled at the startled humans and then bolted off into the blizzard. Such a display and pantomime was not entirely meant to hide his presence but rather to ensure that no general outcry was raised as he fed when necessary. Let them think the woods hereabouts were full of feral wolves and give them no reason to suspect the passage of a Vampire.

With renewed strength he carried on, running along the road until he began to see lights and rising smoke through the haze of falling snow ahead. He slowed his pace and then trotted up the side of a hill. From this vantage point he saw that settled in the space cleared by loggers was a human city of respectable size. It was encircled by a stout stone wall and the buildings inside were almost artistic, speaking of high class and elevated social status. Several of these buildings were large and ornate, made of marble with high columns and lofty soaring wings branching out. They had the theme of 'academia' all over them.

-0-

**_"So I had come back to this place once more. Stahlberg, a grand city of academic discourse and rational inquiry. Its universities were said to be the finest in Nosgoth."_**

-0-

Frowning even in lupine form, Vorador turned to look off towards the southwest. Even through the haze of the falling snow, the spire of Avernus cathedral was just visible, a dark suggestion of a towering outline.

-0-

**_"However, its position so near the theological centre of power in Avernus was no coincidence. Placed under the shadow of the cathedral, the priests could ensure that no avenue of learning that challenged their dogma would ever be pursued. The progress of human achievement was thus neutered, ensuring that generation after generation would grow as socially ignorant as the one before it."_**

-0-

Vorador looked upon the sight with no little pity. He was Serioli, or at least he had been trained by them and shared their pathos in preserving and acquiring knowledge and understanding.

Here, well-meaning scholars and freethinkers would come, seeking to understand the world in which they lived and improve the lives of their fellow man. A laudable sentiment, but it was a dream all too swiftly crushed by the hold religion had. More often than not, any academic who supposed a theory that violated any aspect of scripture would be ordered to recant their words or face excommunication. Most relented but the few that stood firm were made examples of. Burning at the stake was not a clean way to die.

A flash of memory spiked in his mind and Vorador looked around the city again. It would be just under a century before it would happen, but here, just outside the walls of Stahlberg, Moebius had constructed his execution grounds. The choice of this place for such a spectacle was not mere whimsy either. Moebius, as a devout follower of the Wheel of Fate, had disapproved of free thought which he labelled 'heresy'. By making Stahlberg the centre of his bigoted crusade, he had ensured that the city would stay wrapped in the fervour of religious intolerance for at least another two generations. The only advancement would be in the field of Vampire hunting technology while social science and other forms of improvement were set aside.

-0-

**_"Ironically, it would be the upheaval caused by Kain's rising empire that would force the humans to adapt and learn new science."_**

-0-

He supposed that in some weird way Kain had done the humans a favour by conquering Nosgoth. He had forced the boot heel of absolute religious authority off their necks and they had responded by learning as much as they could to try and stave off the dark armies he hurled against them. Also ironic was the fact that the Hylden too had contributed to the intellectual and scientific rise of man. Their pseudo Sarafan Order, which would control Nosgoth for two centuries, would usher in an industrial revolution and show mankind the value of technology.

Vorador glanced down and saw a spot just before the city gates. At the moment it was occupied by a small farm but in eighty years, in that same spot would be the execution ground itself.

-0-

**_"Here the bloody melee of Moebius' mercenary crusade would culminate with my own execution. It was disconcerting to see this place nearly a century before that despicable guillotine was erected. It was hard to believe, but I actually was in the past. I had known Kain had performed time travel but to experience it myself was another matter."_**

-0-

For a moment his vision seemed to overlap. He saw this place as it was now and how it would be, full of blood, carnage and the screams of bigots, all in one instant. He shook his canine head to clear such mental vertigo.

-0-

**_"I did not trust this errand the Seer had me running. I feared I was being led deeper and deeper into some other insidious design."_**

-0-

Anyone who suggested, never mind requested he come anywhere near this cursed place was suspect by default, in his mind. This place was a mental sinking pit, a place where if he did not put up stout walls of protection around his mind, he would be sucked down into an abyss of fear. Despite having lived so long, Vorador had never been sanguine about the idea of dying. Having now experienced it himself he was adamant about never dropping down into that darkness again.

Most humans believed in the concept of 'heaven', where their souls would **go** when they died and where they dwelled for eternity in bliss with passed on loved ones. Not only was that asinine concept false but it was a dangerous deception. And the Wheel of Fate faith, which Moebius had so adored, was even worse.

The Seer had designs above and beyond simply acquiring this so-called Celestial Arrow; that much was obvious. Exactly what this purpose was and how it fit in with the rest of her deep machinations remained a mystery. Kain and Raziel both danced to her tune, whether they knew it or not and now apparently it was his turn. In his lupine form he snorted and turned his head to look east at the rising mountain peaks.

-0-

**_"But in my heart I really did not care. If she restored Umah to me she could plan anything she liked." _**

-0-

He bypassed the city, running on further north. By now he had crossed the border out of Willendorf and into the Northern Kingdom's territory. They were less pious than their southern neighbours, at least for the moment, but still would not be cordial to a Vampire in their lands. Fortunately it was not them Vorador needed to deal with. He skirted their towns and hamlets, keeping to the forests in the foothills of the mountains. Eventually he came across a rocky path that led up to run across the top of a low cliff. It was even ground with no obstacles in the way and was shielded from the snow by a wall of granite. The Vampire galloped up it, spraying gravel from beneath his paws as he ran.

Night passed and it was dawn by the time he sighted the mountain pass that lead to the East. It was on the eastern border of the Northern Kingdom and was heavily fortified with outposts over its mouth. The falling snow was even heavier in the pass and everything seemed to be cloaked in white, but even that did not muffle the echoing sounds. The pass was narrow and sound easily bounced from surface to surface. As such, the sound of thousands upon thousands of marching feet was easy to hear.

When Vorador came over a rise he saw them.

It was a vast column of armoured men, marching in tight formation into the pass. Vorador guessed there might be two thousand or more in this force. They were all wrapped in whatever they could find to keep out the cold, mostly animals furs but some were wearing reinforced leather. Armour was worn over the fur, a very sensible practise in such a cold climate. Cold metal against bare skin would be lethal.

Many men carried swords but a few had war axes slung over their backs. The recognisable shafts of pikes could also be seen and walking in groups on either side of the army were men carrying quivers and curving longbows. They could only be marksmen. There were a few on horseback near the front, each holding a banner with the twisted rose symbol of their northern nation, but they numbered less than twenty and could only be escorts for the commander of the small army. Wagon trains full of supplies brought up the rear.

From his vantage point Vorador watched them slowly march up through the pass. Despite the thick snow the pass was shielded by the curving granite walls all around and so the army marched on through muddy slush.

Nupraptor had said that the East was in some turmoil and here was proof. But exactly how much turmoil and just how would it impinge on his quest? He could not recall mention of a conflict in this region during this time, but of course he had been deliberately indifferent to the affairs of men. He kicked himself for such a foolish lapse. While he ought not to have gotten involved he ought at least to have kept himself informed. That had been the one flaw in his pathos of total isolationism.

If he were to find out what sort of turmoil lay ahead, he would need some up-to-date information about what was clearly a war and unfortunately there was no stealthy way to get it.

Galloping on he easily outdistanced the human army, restricted as they were to the pace of the wagon trains. When he had gotten some distance ahead of them, he dropped down onto the top of a large rock that jutted out over the pass. There he shimmered and blurred back into his regular form and crouched down to wait.

He made no effort at all to conceal himself as the army approached, agonisingly slowly, and simply let himself be seen as they came around a bend in the ravine. Those in the lead, perhaps the scouts, pulled back on their horses' reins in alarm. They stared at him for a long moment and then rode back to the commander's escort which was not far behind them.

Vorador saw men staring at him from a distance, a few pointing in his direction and gesturing wildly in panic. The army approached and then at a signal from the officers came to a stop with its head some fifty feet away from him. This was something of a calculated risk, but Vorador was certain that he could intimidate them enough to provide him with the information he needed, army or not. There were, however, a lot of armed men here and even Kain would have trouble killing so many singlehandedly.

"What is it?!" One of the men on the back of a horse demanded shrilly, sword already drawn with a round shield held in front of himself protectively.

"Some demon from the pits of Hell?!" Another asked and began to quickly heft a war axe up, the reflex more inspired by fear than bravery.

One of them, however, rode his horse forth and stood between the Vampire and the others protectively. He was a stout, well-muscled man with his face hidden behind the visor of his helmet. He drew his sword, a large black broadsword and pointed it defiantly at him.

"Hold, foul creature!" He commanded and his voice had a poetic turn to it, as if he were primarily a bard who just happened to be trained in the arts of war. "Thou shall not approach the Prince for upon mine honour, I shall rend thee apart with my righteous sword!" The old terminology came quite naturally to him and Vorador found himself smiling in wry amusement. He hadn't heard 'thees' and 'thous' for well over two millennia. He had missed its quaint sound.

However, another man on horseback let off a sigh and nudged his horse forward.

"If you don't mind, Ser Barentein." He said and his voice was youthful, barely a few years past its point of maturity. "I can handle this, thank you." He made his horse step forward past the startled and poetic champion.

He was quite young. Vorador judged him to be no older than seventeen. His hair was strawberry blond and he had apale, angular face with deep blue eyes. He wore stylized armour that in some way emulated the symbol of the rose. It was a pale red and engraved in black with rose imagery across the sides and greaves. Two spikes like the thorns of a rose came up from the shoulders. Over his head he wore a leather hood reinforced with chainmail. This he pushed back, letting his long shoulder length hair flap around his face in the wind.

"Your Highness!" The knight, Barentein protested as the young man moved forward. He looked back over his shoulder at the man.

"I said, I can handle this." The youth said firmly and then nudged his horse further on. He stopped perhaps twenty feet from Vorador's position and looked up at him. His expression was unafraid but also prudently wary.

"Good day, Vampire." He said in greeting and seemed not to notice, or at least pretended not to, men with long bows edging closer behind him, hands reaching to quivers to fire arrows should their prince need protection. Vorador was not concerned about **so** mundane a thing as arrows and gave the boy a scrutinizing look.

"You know what I am?" He asked. The youth shrugged and spread one arm, but kept his sword arm near the hilt of the blade at his side.

"I was educated at the finest university in Stahlberg." He replied with some pride. "While I was there I was allowed to study the anatomy of your kind, both old and young." He gestured with a pointing finger to Vorador's arms. "I recognise the talons and the shape of your hands. You are clearly a Vampire of some considerable age."

Vorador frowned at the notion of Vampire corpses being dumped on a table of some human curiosity seeker and being dissected. However, he decided to let the affront pass.

"I am William De'Sengir, Arch-Duke and third-born Prince to King Robert of the Northern Kingdom." The boy said, introducing himself with a short bow that was in some way self-mocking for his grandiose titles.

The Vampire regarded the brave, or perhaps simply rash, boy for a long moment of quiet speculation.

"I am Vorador." He said and those that heard him stared at him with wide eyes, colour draining from their faces. No doubt they would have heard of the name before; of the terrible and bloodthirsty assassin who had slaughtered two-thirds of the Circle of Nine.

"Oh." William said in surprise, both eyebrows raised. The knight, Barentein galloped his horse forward quickly and put his shield in front of the prince.

"Stay back, Your Highness!" He urged. "'Tis a Vampire of unearthly power and dark repute!" He gestured with his sword to the archers to take up their positions. The marksmen were more than happy to do so, stepping forward and drawing their bows back to fire. A few of the armoured men on the backs of horses came forward as well. As was their duty, they would protect the member of the royal family with their lives.

"Ser Barentein!" William snapped and his voice rang with a confident tone of command that was odd to one so young. He slapped the shield away from himself almost angrily and turned on the man. "If I want your protection and your flowery verse I shall ask for it." Barentein stared at his prince but his expression was unreadable behind his visor. "And you men will stay back until I have given you the order!" William added with some contempt to the archers, glaring at them savagely until they almost sheepishly lowered their weapons.

With a glare William directed Barentein back behind him and then turned to address the Vampire once more.

"Pardon him." He said apologetically. "My father set him as my bodyguard. He has two older sons before me but he feels he can take no chances with any male issue of his loins." The young prince paused to consider the Vampire afresh, this time with new interest. His eyes were the eyes of a scholar and he seemed to be taking in every detail and observation he could.

"So, Vorador eh?" He asked with a half smile. "The monster that butchered the mass majority of the Circle of Nine?" He sounded far more elated than afraid for the presence of such a perceived menace. "I am enriched to have met such a titan in the history of our world." His smile turned into an irrepressible grin. "It will be something to tell my own heirs about."

Vorador was more suspicious than relaxed by the prince's cavalier attitude and indifference to danger. He knew that there would be some humans who were not instantly bigoted against his kind, but at the very least he expected them to be afraid, like any prey would be in the presence of such a predator. This simple acceptance was unnerving.

"But what is so notorious a Vampire doing out here in the wilderness, all on his own?" William asked as if making simple conversation.

"Heading east." Vorador replied, keeping his eyes on William but not missing any of the movements the men behind him made. He was ready to spring into action the moment an arrow was loosed in his direction.

"Why, what a coincidence, that's just what I am doing." The prince replied jokingly and looked back over his shoulder at the army behind him. Most of the men could not see what they had stopped for and were taking the opportunity to drink a little water and get their breath back.

"Your father is expanding his kingdom?" Vorador asked flatly. William chuckled lightly in response.

"A long-term military campaign." He explained. He pointed down the pass in the direction the army was travelling. "Our borders have been threatened often from the East and their Mandarin rulers, and now my father has decided to put them down once and for all."

Vorador frowned at that. He did not recognise the term 'Mandarin'.

"This is a relief column. We're to join up with the main force and then begin the march to the capital city, Zwergstadar." William went on to explain. Vorador knew the name of the city. It was reputed to be the only large-scale city in the East. He knew little else about it.

"What is a Mandarin?" He asked, not caring if it sounded ignorant.

"The Mandarins are the so-called rulers of the East." William told him with a roll of his eyes. "There are five of them in all and they rule with an iron fist. Their army is called the Dogma and it has crossed our borders many times on provoking raids."

Vorador digested this for a moment.

"Then the East in embroiled in total war?" He asked.

"Liberation." The prince corrected him with a blissful smile. "The people of that land have suffered greatly under the yoke of Mandarin rule." He gestured to all those behind him with one arm that clanked in its armour. "We come as an emancipating army, to manumit the masses of tyrannical oppression." Despite the presence of such a notorious Vampire, a few of the men puffed themselves up at such a description.

"Forgive me if I remain cynical." Vorador remarked flatly.

"Well, that is your prerogative." William just shrugged indifferently and then made the motion of dusting his hands. "But enough of my banter; what can I do for you?"

Deciding to get down to the business that had forced him to even speak with the prince, Vorador stood up from his crouch. Despite it being a commonplace movement, several of the men flinched in response.

"I require information about current affairs in the East." The Vampire said. "Especially on the positions of the two clashing armies." William looked back at his men for a moment, then at the Vampire. He smiled whimsically.

"Fair enough." He agreed and turned in his saddle. "Ser Barentein, bring forth one of our military maps that show our positions." His bodyguard looked at him sharply. Despite his face not being visible his body language told of his total surprise.

"Your Highness?!" He asked in a startled voice. William gave him a sour look.

"Oh please, it's the least we can do to be cordial." He said with a flick of one hand.

"This Vampire could sell such intelligence to our enemy!" One of the other men on the back of a horse said, looking back and forth between his prince and the perched Vorador. William adopted a mock expression of chagrin and scratched his chin.

"Oh, that is a good point." He said without any sincerity. He looked back at Vorador. "Will you?" He asked openly and with wide, innocent eyes. Vorador found him even more disturbing for his complete disregard for what he himself thought was a valid concern.

"No." He replied, though. William shrugged and turned back.

"Good enough for me." He said and imperiously directed them to bring him what he had requested. Given that he was indeed a member of the royal family, they obeyed and soon a rolled up sheet of parchment was brought to him. William took it swiftly and held it up in one hand in the Vampire's direction.

"The map is up-to-date as of last month." He said. "As far as I know, we still hold Valeholm but Father was making a push towards the coast to take their right flank."

Vorador made one gesture with a talon and the parchment floated up to his waiting hand, summoned to him with telekinesis. Using his mind he began to unroll it and studied it for a long moment. The East was a wide stretch of land that was just as large as the central plain itself. It spread out until it curved south in a jagged coastline. There was one large, wide river and two expansive lakes east and west. Mountains jutted up in the centre of the plain and on the eastern side of the peaks was a wide expanse of swamp labelled 'The Fens'.

The East was very sparsely populated. The only settlements were along the coasts and near the mountains, in sheltered places protected by large rock outcroppings. A few words were written on various locations, denoting who was in control of which settlement.

"I thank you for this intelligence." Vorador said, folding the parchment up into squares and then slipping it into his belt for safekeeping.

"You're very welcome." William replied with an absolutely straight face. "Well, as much as I'd love to continue this absolutely fascinating conversation, I am expected with these men at Valeholm, posthaste." He pulled his hood back up over his head. "Good day to you, Vampire." He said with a nod and gestured back to the men with one hand.

"Move up!" He called.

"What about the Vampire, Your Highness?" One of the mounted men asked, having not taken his eyes off of Vorador at all.

"What about him?" William asked.

"We can't just leave him here!" Another protested almost shrilly. The prince gave him a quizzical sort of look.

"Why not?" He asked. He was obviously not so stupid that he did not know the answer, but was rather coaxing them to try and argue with him. It was a strange song and dance that, if done correctly, would solidify his chain of command over them. Vorador had seen the same tactic used before.

"It's a commandment of the church!" A third put in, still holding a sword.

"Aye, it's Vorador himself! It's our duty to at least..." One more started and William quickly jumped in to override him.

"We have pressing business, gentlemen." He reminded them with a stern voice. "My father needs our sword arms against the eastern barbarian horde." He swept them all with a glare. "We are at war and yet you propose to waste time chasing a Vampire over the mountains?" Several of them looked like they were going to argue, but when they met his gaze they faltered. "I'm sure my father would be very interested in your choice. Besides, your intended prey has already gone."

When they all looked up in startled surprise, Vorador had indeed disappeared. He had not translocated himself, but rather had turned into a raven while their attention had been diverted and was presently simply circling high overhead. In the pass the winds were not so terribly strong, so a soft glide was permissible.

William had no difficulty in getting his army moving again and before long the column was marching on.

-0-

**_"As strangely courteous as this popinjay of a prince had been, I knew better than to simply accept his word. I believed it would be the course of prudence to covertly follow this army and observe for myself."_**

-0-

The map might tell him the general outline of the war, but it would not compare to seeing how matters stood with his own eyes. The map had told him that the Northern Kingdom held the town of Valeholm on the far side of the pass. If that held true then he could trust its information.

So he followed the army, moving at their pace. It took them two days to clear the pass with their supply trains right behind them. As Vorador looked out at the land beyond he marvelled at it. The land stretched on past the horizon and much of it was unmarked forest and rearing mountain. The sun was just beginning to rise, giving the distant shine of rivers and lakes a golden glow.

-0-

**_"And so I beheld the distant Eastern plains of Nosgoth, a sparsely inhabited realm of swamp, grassland and jutting peaks. Somewhere in this expansive and near untamed wilderness was supposedly the fabled Lost City, and contained therein, this so-called Celestial Arrow."_**

-0-

The shape of the land seemed to flash in his mind, freezing in place and stayed fixed there. Then it seemed to unlock something and there was a rising surge of recognition and familiarity.

-0-

**_As I beheld this land from the vantage of the heavens, the stirrings of recognition began to move in me. It was the strangest sensation of déjà vu. I had been here before."_**

-0-

He soared up high and looked out across at the land, surveying it with new eyes but with a growing sensation of having been here before.

-0-

**_"What was it Ajatar-Cadre had told me? That I had been found by Janos Audron as a human boy, here in the East? Was I remembering this land that might once have been called home?" _**

-0-


	11. 10 The attack on Valeholm

The blizzard abated into a casual thick snowfall, much obscured by a dry mist that made flying low to the ground very difficult. The winds died and allowed the thick flakes to fall unhindered. The sun had disappeared almost completely and despite the fact it was dawn, it was growing darker.

When the town came into view, surrounded by thick patches of pine trees, it had an almost yuletide picturesque feel to it. From above, Vorador could see the scars of battle from the claiming of the settlement. Sharpened stakes were driven into the ground all around. Such defences were not intended to impale but rather to slow down besiegers to give the archers on the walls better shots. From the walls, the red rose banner of the Northern Kingdom hung limp in the still air, freshly deployed decorations to show the new rulers of the town. There were no tents around the town which would be more useful for an occupying army during a large military campaign, meaning that the current force holding the settlement was small enough to be quartered inside the walls completely.

-0-

**_"Before me lay the snowy, half frozen frontier town of Valeholm; one of the few colony settlements established on the eastern side of the mountains. Most of this land was untamed and wild. The only attraction for the western nations was the abundance of minerals and metals from the substantial mines."_**

-0-

Lanes and twisting roads led away from the town and up a short distance into the foothills of the mountains. There in hidden crevices and valleys were entrances to mines that riddled the earth beneath the peaks. These mountains were legendary for being full of precious metals such as gold, silver and iron. Rumour had held of gemstone deposits: sapphires, rubies and diamonds to be claimed by whoever found them embedded in the rock. There were also stories about an extremely rare metal to be found in the depths of the tunnels. Some aspiring alchemist had named the metal, platinum, and it had been sought after for centuries by many for its rarity.

Valeholm itself was a large town with large outcroppings of rock helping to form a natural protective wall. Most of the buildings, townhouses with slate roofs, were nestled between these rocks, but some stood atop them. The most prominent of which was the large church, its bell tower like an erect finger pointing towards the heavens. In previous days, during the era of the Sarafan brotherhood, the town had been home to a group of alchemists, scholars and mages who had been experimenting with the fresh minerals from the mines in an attempt to find some poison for Vampires that the crusader knights could employ. Fortunately they never discovered anything.

William's army marched openly towards the town, crunching the snow into mush under their feet and in front of them they held up the rose banner of their northern nation. Many corresponding banners were draped from the walls of the township and the walls were lined with warriors and archers that wore the same northern style chainmail.

-0-

**_"The banners hanging from the walls of the town lent credence to the words of that foppish prince, William. The town was indeed under the military control of the Northern Kingdom. I decided to wait and observe a little while longer. I sensed something was about to occur."_**

-0-

In raven form, Vorador flew low over the heads of William's column. Most ignored him but one waved a pike at him when he came too close. Catching an updraft, he rose and climbed up high enough to settle onto the branch of a tree that overlooked the approach to the town. Perching there and partly hidden by the thick green pine needles, he watched as the column approached the gates of the town and then came to a stop just out of bow shot from the walls. This was a prudent display of civility as it was not unknown for enemy forces to display false colours in order to get close enough to a fortified position to take it without massive losses.

William De'Sengir stood in plain sight in front of his army, with his large armoured bodyguard Ser Barentein at his side. Together they waited patiently. Behind them their men watched the closed town gates, only stirring to shake the thick falling snow from off their shoulders.

Then, after a long quiet pause, the gates began to creak open. As they swung wide, about twenty men on horseback rode out. Inspecting these new men with a bird's eyes, Vorador saw they were more Northern cavalry and armed with large heavy axes with serrated blade edges. The two men at the front, however, had broadswords and wore far more elaborate armour in the same style as that of William himself. As they got closer and the Vampire was able to make out their faces, he saw that each of the two men had a striking resemblance to William. The first was taller but had that same strawberry blond hair and shape of the jaw. He looked to be in his late thirties. The second was stouter with thick and long black hair but had the same eye colour as William as well as a similarly shaped nose, although this was partly concealed by a thick beard. This one seemed to have just cleared his twenty-fifth year. The taller man had a golden circlet about his head with a red jewel set in the centre, while the black haired man had a silver circlet with a polished sapphire. Both of them had the bearing of noblemen of some importance and wore expensive and well brushed furs over their pale red armour.

They rode up to the column and stopped, within speaking distance of one another but out of range of weapons. The cavalry men also set themselves in positions to shield the two noblemen from any archer amongst the new arrivals.

The tall man with the golden circlet rode forward a few paces and gave William an amused sort of look, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

"Well met, little brother." He said quite jovially with a happy grin. William bowed back in his saddle with a smile of his own.

"Simon, always a pleasure." The youth replied with his usual mocking tone. Then he turned and bowed to the other man, although not as deeply. "And Michael, you are looking well." He looked up and gave the black bearded man a grin of impish insolence. "Plucked up the courage to begin courting that noblewoman from Willendorf yet? I know you have been sending couriers back and forth, even during the campaign."

Michael, the black bearded man and clearly also one of William's older siblings, sat up straight in his saddle and glared back at the younger prince indignantly.

"That is none of your business." He snapped back with some heat. He raised a hand and shook a finger at him, the gauntlets he wore on his hand rattling. "And you should show more respect to the Crown Prince, especially in front of the men."

"Oh, no need to be so harsh." Simon, the crown prince himself remarked with a short laugh. "I actually like William's blasé wit." He leaned over and nudged Michael in his side with an elbow. "Quite a refreshing change from your sour disposition." Michael glared back at them both with barely concealed outrage for the jibe.

William's smile widened and he leaned up in his saddle.

"Why, Simon, elder brother, you are too kind." He said. Simon leaned back and looked up at the military column that was waiting. He surveyed the assembled men with a discerning expression, rubbing his chin with one hand.

"How many men?" He asked, his tone all business, without taking his eyes from the arrayed reinforcements.

"Another two thousand infantry, mostly sword and pikemen but also a brigade or two of archers." William replied.

"That is all?" Michael asked with some disgusted surprise, giving his younger brother a look of annoyance for so low a number. William returned the look his brother directed at him coolly and with quiet disdain.

"If I recruited any more men, there would be no one left to tend the farms and the fields would lie fallow this year." He said and his voice took on a slightly condescending tone. "I hardly think Father would thank us for inducing famine in the kingdom, do you?"

Michael's grip on the reins of his horse tightened in response and his nostrils flared in barely controlled rage.

"Good point, we shall just have to be more careful." Simon remarked with a smile, giving Michael an amused sidelong look. The crown prince turned and gestured back towards the town. More men were watching the proceedings from the walls of the city. "We have another six thousand men in Valeholm." He said and then pointed off to the horizon. "Father took the main bulk of the army heading east along the coast. We are to join him as soon as the men have been rested and fed."

"Then we ought to have this campaign over before the spring." William opined with an optimistic smile.

"That is the plan." Simon replied.

Vorador, who was growing bored of the Human conversation and was thinking about simply leaving and continuing his journey elsewhere, twitched and became more erect on his perch. Something out of the ordinary had caught his attention. In the trees surrounding the town there was the faintest hint of movement. It was too sudden and slight for any dulled Human perception to register it, but with the enhanced eyes of a bird, Vorador watched as indistinguishable shapes began to slip back and forth between the trees and undergrowth.

At first he thought he saw a mere handful of moving things, but then he saw more, and more. Very soon he was able to perceive that moving through the trees were hundreds of creatures. He could not make out their forms yet through the concealing snow and brush but whatever they were, they were about twice the bulk of a man.

"It is bad enough we had to start this campaign in the winter." Michael remarked flatly. Both he and all the men around him were completely oblivious to the moving creatures which were quietly surrounding them. Soon the shapes were positioned in perfect ambush spots. They were even upwind so their scent would not carry and alarm the horses of the cavalry.

Vorador tensed, opening his raven's wings slightly in tense preparation. He had sensed something was about to happen before but now he was certain of it.

"Capital!" William was saying and nudged his horse forward to join his brothers. "Now how about you treat your little brother to some of that mead with mint extract that you kept telling me about in your dispatches?"

As he passed by Simon on his own horse, the attack commenced.

It began with a howl, a rising bellow that echoed off the rocks surrounding the town and resonated eerily in the gloom of the falling snow. The choir howl shot through the air and even before they saw what was making the sound, the men and horses all spun around in panic and broke their formations. The call was a warped and twisted version of the howl of a wolf pack.

With the formation of men disturbed and frightened by such a noise, the creatures moved in for the kill. They began inching forward out of their concealment slowly, using the falling snow to mask their movements.

Vorador could see these creatures in greater detail now. They were hunched over, bipedal creatures with long arms that ended in black claws and their heads were animalistic. They were covered in a white fur that matched the snow almost perfectly. Long bushy tails swept out behind them as they moved, a counterbalance to their heavier fronts. The pack of these creatures quietly encircled their prey without them even knowing.

Ser Barentein turned slightly in his saddle and caught sight of the creature closest to him. He drew his sword instantly with a warning yell of alarm. Too late.

The creatures sprang with tremendous and savage force. Dozens of men were caught by surprise and clawed to the ground. Before even their first screams could escape their lips they were torn to pieces. Hot steaming blood and entrails were scattered onto the snow. Bones were ripped from within the quivering flesh and broken to have their marrow sucked out by hungry maws.

Panic spread quickly through the men as they scrambled to escape from the monsters that were suddenly in their midst. A few managed to draw their weapons but the beasts were on them before they could be used.

The horses of the cavalry reared and screamed, many throwing their riders off in their alarm. Those that managed to stay on their mounts were unable to control the animals otherwise and did not seem to be inclined to, backing away as fast as possible from the furious animals that were slaughtering the infantry.

Vorador would not have gotten involved in this skirmish. It would have been in his best interests to simply move on and see what else he could find in the East and leave William and his brothers to whatever their fate may be. He was about to do this when his hand was unexpectedly forced.

He had dropped to the ground from his perch and shimmered back into his own normal form. He thought it would be better to try and cross the land as a wolf, which had better insulation against the cold than a raven. Before he could adopt the new form, however, a snarling noise caused him to quickly spin about.

Emerging out of the foliage directly behind him were five of the creatures, moving quickly to encircle him. Now he was close up and directly before them and he could see every detail of their monstrous appearance. The animal they resembled more than anything was a wolf, their lips drawn back to expose fangs dripping with hot saliva.

Face to face with the beasts, Vorador recognised them. It had been many millennia since he had seen one last but he remembered them with crystal clarity.

-0-

**_"I had not seen or heard from these feral creatures in eons. A disgusting blend of man and beast, these monsters were dogs made on commission from the Time Streamer, Moebius. These so-called 'Werewolves' had served as hounds of war during the uprising against the original Vampire race. Most had been put down after the rebellion was over but some had escaped into the hinterlands. I had never seen so many in one place at one time before."_**

-0-

These beasts had been the force they had sent into the Ancient Citadel to rend apart the loyal defenders before the uprising Human Seraphim warriors stormed the battlements. These dogs had rent apart anyone who had tried to defend the Citadel and once the rebels had taken Ba'al-Zebur captive, they had executed the first Balance Guardian by feeding him to the beasts.

The wolves which had been used in the ancient war had been a muddy brown, as he recalled, but these wolves were a new arctic variation.

Vorador slid back as one of them lunged at him, claws slashing through the air where he had been a moment ago. In mid-dodge his left hand clutched the handle of Malice and his right hand wrapped along the hilt of Marrow at his side. With an axe in one hand and a sword in the other, he danced to one side to avoid the snapping jaws of a second wolf mutant. As it passed him, he brought Marrow up sharply. The blade sliced through the exposed neck, muscle and vertebrae and the head was sent spinning high into the air. The body spun once, bounced off a tree and fell back to the ground, hot steaming blood pumping out thickly and making the snow melt.

A third wolf, galloping on all fours, lunged at him with a snarl. Its claws came around to cleave and tear but Vorador was faster. He darted behind a holly bush and it gave him a moment of cover. Anticipating the wolf's next move he crouched low and tensed, waiting for that spilt second where he could make his move.

The wolf obviously did not perceive its danger and lunged straight through the bush at the Vampire with both arms out wide, claws held to strike. But the bush had obscured Vorador's posture from view and when it was in midair, its chest was totally exposed. Vorador thrust forward with Marrow from his lower position. From this angle the serpentine blade drove straight up into the chest and through the ribs. It punctured the heart with a sickeningly audible 'pop' and the wolf vomited near black blood from its mouth. Vorador sidestepped, drawing his blade from the body and letting the corpse tumble down the incline to bury itself in a snow bank.

Another arctic Werewolf crouched low in the snow, the near mane of fur on its back beginning to bristle. Then he darted in, at first seeming to charge him directly but at the last second swiftly sliding to one side and around him. These wolves were capable of moving in the heavy snow a lot more efficiently while he felt his own footing to be very unsure and impeded.

The wolf came at him from behind, attempting to employ the tactic of its namesake animal by hamstringing his right leg. That tactic might have worked on a normal and slower opponent, but Vorador's own reaction time was just as swift as the wolf's. He leapt into midair just as the Werewolf lunged and in that acrobatic twist he brought Malice around in a deadly arc. The war axe sliced through the air and crashed into the creature's head. The skull gave way at the blow and caved in. Fragment of bone and brain flew in all directions and a thick spray of blood jetted out to splatter all over the snow and foliage.

Even with these wolves dead, however, Vorador had no time to pause. Sharply he turned around at the sound of panting and snarling behind him. More Werewolves were emerging from the undergrowth, one by one moving in a circling motion to surround him. They kept on coming until at least twenty were circling him, their blue eyes locked on him and lips drawn back over their teeth. They didn't even seem to notice their dead pack mates lying all around them.

Fighting so many at once was completely out of the question. A strategic withdrawal seemed the prudent course of action given the circumstances.

Several of the creatures, snarling and howling, came at him all at once, trying to assault him from all sides. Vorador had anticipated that, however, and as they lunged, he ducked and began to roll. He ploughed into the Werewolf directly in front of him and bowled it over. It let out a startled yelp that cut off as Vorador drove Marrow into its throat, twisting the sword sharply to sever its spinal column. The other wolves turned to try and take him but the Vampire was already moving, running out from the trees and onto the open field. The wolves followed him, running in an oddly well-disciplined formation on all fours. However, they fell right into the sight of the archers defending the men. The marksmen responded instantly to the new threat and a hailstorm of arrows flew into the ranks of the charging wolves. With howls, many of them collapsed to the snow.

"Your Highnesses, quickly, behind the gates!" A man on horseback was shouting, guarding the three princes with his body and shield. Almost immediately he was hurled from his saddle as a wolf leapt across the horse's back and knocked him down. He was dead before he even struck the ground. The princes and their bodyguards were already beginning to beat a path back towards the gates of Valeholm but they were constantly assaulted on all sides by the wolves.

Vorador's presence, even in the general melee, did not go unnoticed. His appearance was quite striking and when they saw him, several swordsmen quickly formed up together with their weapons drawn.

"Form ranks!" Their sergeant barked, his voice echoing slightly from within his helmet. "Protect the Princes!" He beckoned several men forward, jabbing his sword at the Vampire. Grimly the soldiers advanced towards him.

"No!" William overrode them with a barked command. "Let him fight!" Despite military discipline they all turned as one to look at him.

"Your Highness!?" One of them began in startled confusion. William swore at him for a solid ten seconds and his choice of language was very poetic.

"I don't care if the hand that wields it is the hand of a Vampire, a demon, or the Devil himself! We need all the swords we can muster!" He told them with utter vehemence. "Now kindly get back to killing some wolves!"

Vorador did not need the permission of some self-important royal boy. He was too busy fending off another wolf to more than peripherally notice the shouted conversation.

The army of men had been devastated by the ambush and heaps of bodies were collapsed in the blood drenched snow. They were gradually retreating towards the open gates of Valeholm while the archers on the walls fired at the arctic mutant hounds.

The wolves came on like a rising tide. When one fell, another two seemed to take its place. Vorador was finding himself hard pressed by the constant attacks and was beginning to retreat in that direction too. Cutting down a wolf that lunged at him from behind, Vorador saw that even more Werewolves were bursting out of the forest. Their numbers seemed endless. Hundreds of the mutants had gathered here for this attack.

Vorador had never heard of the Werewolves amassing in such numbers before. He had thought their numbers to be low, finally dropping off into utter extinction after the fall of the Pillars. How could such an army of these beasts have survived without him ever being aware of them?

Three wolves charged him together, circling for a moment before the swiftest darted in from behind. Vorador back flipped out of the way and brought Marrow down across its back, neatly slicing open its flesh in one swing. The gaping wound burst wide, exposing the spine. The wolf howled in agony but that was cut short when Vorador held up one hand and discharged a bolt of energy directly into its exposed bones. The spine shattered into pieces of far flung bone and the creature collapsed silently into the snow.

The second, spraying up snow from his gallop, threw itself through the air at him. Vorador spun about and ducked low so the beast missed him and sailed overhead. As it passed by, Vorador brought Malice up in as hard a swing as he could muster. The axe slammed into the beast's crotch and shattered its pelvis. It dropped to the snow, crying out in unspeakable pain. The Vampire ended the cry with a single thrust of Marrow into its chest.

The last wolf darted, protecting its vitals by keeping itself low to the ground. It zigzagged from side to side as it came, as if trying to confuse the Vampire as to how and where it would strike. Vorador was not fooled for a moment and when the Werewolf came at him from the left, as his body language clearly showed, Vorador met him head-on. He ducked under the lunge from the claws before swinging around sharply and cleaving the beast from naval to neckline with Marrow's edge. The two halves of the creature stayed together for an instant before they collapsed, quivering to either side.

The squeal of a horse caught his attention and Vorador turned swiftly around. Most of the royal bodyguards were fighting for their lives, struggling against the tide of creatures that beset them. So two Werewolves had broken through the line of defence and had pulled down the horse of the crown prince, Simon. The man was pinned beneath the wounded animal and was helpless as the wolves set upon him. One of them closed its jaws around his throat and tore it out with savage fury. He gargled once and then collapsed, dead instantly.

"Simon!" William cried out hoarsely, almost leaping off of his horse to vainly rush to the aide of his already departed brother.

"Keep back!" Ser Barentein shouted, moving his own horse forward to block the prince, his sword extended in his hand. "It's too late!"

Crown Prince Simon was now in pieces, savagely torn apart by the Werewolves. The scattered limbs and flesh of his sundered body were being fed upon and consumed ravenously, and even the bones were broken up to have the marrow sucked from them. The horse that pinned him down was strangely overlooked.

As Vorador turned, a Werewolf he hadn't even noticed sprang forward from its concealment in the snow and mist. With a howl its claws caught him directly in the left-hand side, slicing deep into his flesh and grating against the bones of his rib cage. Letting out a muffled grunt of pain, the Vampire backed off but in that moment of confused unwariness he left himself wide open.

Another Werewolf, perhaps hunting in conjunction with the first, came at him from behind. It grabbed him by the forearms, pinning them to his side. Before he could pry himself free the beast sank its inch long fangs directly into his exposed shoulder.

At this Vorador did let out a cry. The teeth of Werewolves were curved and serrated, perfect for slicing through flesh and separating it from bone. He could feel the powerful jaws crunch down and his collarbone strain under the pressure, threatening to break.

Fortunately Vorador was no stranger to pain. Gritting his teeth, he took Marrow and turned it around in his right hand. With one sharp motion of his arm he stabbed the Werewolf in the belly with the blade, slicing deeply into its guts. The beast let go of him to howl in pain and as it did, Vorador swung his head back and cracked it against the underside of the Werewolf's snout. The blow caused its mouth to snap shut on its own tongue and as it staggered back, letting go of his arms, the Vampire spun about in an instant and with a snarl of his own, decapitated the creature with one massive swung from Malice.

The wounds inflicted upon him were quite severe. Glancing down he saw his white shirt had been badly torn and was stained red with his own blood. There were several gaping and bloody holes in his shoulder and thick vertical slices were open across his waist. As a Vampire, his body could use its own energies to restore such wounds but that took time. Glancing about at the dozen or so Werewolves now moving in to finish him off, he doubted he had that time.

The Werewolves seemed to have determined that he was a greater threat to them than any of the Humans and were gathering to bring him down, as was the way of animals that hunted in packs. Grimly, Vorador slid Marrow back to his side and with his free hand drew Havoc. This was the kind of combat situation that the axes had been intended for.

The wolves came at him all at once, at least a dozen in one organised rush. Despite his injuries, Vorador shifted his weight sharply and began to spin. With both axes held at the ends of his arms, his spinning body became a deadly spiralling object. The wolves only seemed to perceive this at the last instant before he met them head-on, Havoc and Malice put to their full potential. Limbs and heads were sent flying, entrails scattered across the snow and quivering lumps of flesh, still clinging to cleaved bone, were dropped in the snow.

Havoc and its sister Malice drunk deep of blood and again and again and again they were slammed into the bodies of the creatures. Only when perhaps eight of them lay dead did the others finally realise they could not attack such a force straight on and backed off, as if deciding there was other more amenable prey elsewhere and to leave him alone.

"Back to the gate!" Prince Michael cried out in shrill alarm, raising his own sword and gesturing wildly to all the men around him. "Hurry!" He kicked his horse without mercy, directing it to turn and gallop back towards Valeholm. However, he had abandoned his bodyguards in his panic and that proved to be a fatal mistake. Two pairs of Werewolves had been stalking him the moment he made his run for his own personal safety.

One darted out in front to slow the horse, while another two attacked from either side. They slashed at the animal's flanks, cleaving deep wounds in its belly and then the fourth brought it down with one snap of its jaws on its throat.

The horse stumbled and Prince Michael was thrown from the saddle. The Werewolves didn't even need to finish him off. From the way he landed it was obvious that the fall had broken his neck. They dived on his corpse to feed anyway.

The two headband crowns were discarded and lost in the chaos, trampled into the mud and snow and perhaps were never to be found again.

With the death of two princes and the command to flee already declared, many of the struggling men deserted their fight with the Werewolves and bolted for the open gates of Valeholm. More than a few of them even discarded their own weapons to run unburdened.

Seeing the resolve of their prey weaken, the Werewolves pulled back and began to regroup, gathering into a large pack of about two hundred. In moments they would surge and overrun the men. Vorador was directly between the two groups. He was moments away from being charged by an unstoppable number of feral beasts. Not even Havoc and Malice would be able to cleave their way through so many.

-0-

**_"__Faced with the choice between the feral pack and the entrenched soldiers, I chose the less __malignant__ option."_**

-0-

As the wolves began their charge, Vorador turned to look up at the wall of Valeholm above. There was a tower just over the gate with several redoubts projecting from it where archers were firing covering arrows down. To this spot he translocated himself, vanishing in a flare of light from the field an instant before the feral creatures reached it. Several of them made lunges for him, only to find their claws passing through empty air.

The archers occupying the tower were startled to find him suddenly standing there in their midst and several of them stumbled backwards in alarm, drawing their swords and shouting loudly. Vorador had neither the time nor the inclination to try and argue with them. He simply slaughtered them all, silencing the screams and yells with precise use of Marrow's blade. Clinically and methodically he carved through them, very much like a surgeon with a scalpel. He knew where and how to strike to silence them quickly.

As they died, he summoned their blood to his lips. It did much to replenish his energies and to speed the healing of his wounds; the bite in his shoulder fading away and the slashes across his midsection closing up. His shirt, however, was ruined. It was soaked with blood and badly torn. This was why, he supposed, Kain preferred to not be encumbered by upper body clothing. It just got in the way. He was not used to going without, however, and decided to find a replacement as soon as possible.

Glancing out through the arrow slit in the redoubt wall, the Vampire watched as the heavy doors of Valeholm swung in and shut with a loud boom. Many men had not been quick enough to get inside before that happened and were instantly set upon by the Werewolves. The ground before the walled settlement was littered with heaps of dead bodies: men, horses and even some of the beasts themselves.

Through another arrow slit, Vorador could see directly down into the courtyard just inside the gate. It was being barred with large metal and wooden beams. Many men were dropping down to the ground on their knees, some huddling back with frightened blubbering.

The only one of the three princes to have escaped was William De'Sengir himself. He dropped down off his horse as if he had never ridden one before in his life, staring at the closed gate with a pale face.

"My brothers!" He exclaimed in a harsh voice that held a world of emotional pain but did not waver or break in that anguish.

"It's too late, Your Highness!" Barentein told him, climbing down from his own exhausted and frightened horse. Quickly he came over to the prince and restrained him from venturing any closer to the gate. "They're dead, my lord. I'm sorry."

William just stood there, staring unblinkingly at that gate and seemed almost frozen in place. His expression was strange, not exactly grief stricken but still intensely remorseful. He seemed almost like a man who had just been through some terrible event and was still numbed by the experience.

"My Prince, you don't have time to mourn." Barentein began again in a softer tone of voice. "You're the ranking officer now and the men need you to direct the defence of the walls."

William flinched and glanced back sharply over his shoulder, seeming to recall exactly where he was and what was happening all around him. Some colour returned to him and he ran one hand in its gauntlet over his face. It trembled slightly.

"Yes...you are correct, Ser Knight." He replied and when he turned around his face was like stone, impassive and stern.

"I want the archers and the crossbowmen on the rooftops immediately!" He said and when he spoke it was in a tone of confident and unwavering command. "Pikemen to the walls! Swordsmen with them!"


	12. 11 Prince of the Realm

The walls of the town would have held off any normal besieging force which had only scaling ladders, grappling hooks and siege towers to assault it with. The Werewolves however needed no such cumbersome equipment. With their long fingers that ended in digging claws they could scale the walls with relative ease, climbing like a furry tide of voracious ants. The men on the walls of Valeholm clustered tightly together, making a wall with their very bodies to prevent the savage animals from gaining the top. They stabbed down with spears, pikes, sword and axes, any weapon that they could lay their hands on.

The struggle was made even more chaotic by the thickly falling snow. The white fall grew even heavier and soon it was impossible to see even past a few feet. Each struggle that went on was in its own isolated pocket and no one could see how the rest of the desperate fight was progressing.

For a while it seemed like it would be a prolonged stalemate. However, one man got careless and exposed his neck when he bent over to stab a scaling Werewolf in the face. The animal dodged his crude attack and slashed up, cleaving his neck through all the way to the spinal column. As the man, instantly dead from the awful wound, toppled backwards it created a hole in the defensive line. The Werewolves immediately capitalised on it and swarmed up in one massive surge. They struck that weak point with the might of their concentrated numbers and the men could not hold them back this time.

The wolves gained the top of the wall and within minutes they were dropping down into the town itself, leaping from the wall to the streets and across the rooftops. They were seemingly everywhere at once and many of the town's populace barricaded themselves in the buildings, fleeing to the dubious safety of locked attics and cellars. The men of the Northern Kingdom continued to fight, struggling for their very lives in the streets themselves. No corner of the town was unmarked by the violent clash and blood ran so thickly that it melted the snow.

-0-

**_"The township was in utter chaos. The wolves were up and over the walls and blood torn flesh filled the streets. Under any other circumstances I might have found the sight mildly entertaining. But trapped as I was in the midst of the melee I was far from amused."_**

-0-

A woman, a native to the eastern region wearing the animal furs common in this region, ran screaming down the main street. Galloping on all fours in pursuit were two Werewolves, each trying to outdo the other and reach their intended prey first.

The woman reached a short flight of stairs, stumbling up it to reach large green door. Briefly she struggled with the handle but it refused to open. Crying in fear and anxiety she pounded both of her small fists against the door.

"For the love of God, let me in!" She squealed. "You can't just shut me o..." She never finished her plea. One of the Werewolves grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her back so sharply that she cracked her chin on the stone stairs. She must have bitten off her tongue as when the wolves began tearing her apart, her mouth was too full of blood to utter a scream.

In an adjacent street, several Werewolves had brought down a cavalry man and his horse and were feeding on the steaming flesh of both the rider and mount, entrails slopping everywhere and the rest of the flesh rippling like jelly before it was devoured. A horse would have fed them for a month or more but with such a banquet they were lost in their bloody gluttony.

One of them looked up and sighting a figure at the far end of the street, gave off a snarl. The other three looked up in response. In such chaotic environments, surrounded by death and violence, the urge to kill was often far greater than urge to feed. Despite the fact they had a plentiful meal right before them, the abandoned the meat and charged on all fours through the snow towards the figure.

Only at the last second, their eyes widening in stunned confusion, did they realised that their intended prey was not human.

With a sharp whistle, Malice came around in a sharp blur and slammed into the chest of the first Werewolf. In accompaniment, Malice's sister Axe; Havoc, arched up and slammed down into the skull of the second. Both wolves crumbled to the floor of the street, almost caving in on themselves.

The remaining two Arctic Werewolves backed off but Vorador did not give them time to counter attack. Arching his body in a side two step, he whirled and brought the two axes around so quickly they blurred and became one perfect cleaving edge. The Werewolves were too slow to react as the axes sliced their heads off in one single stroke. Their decapitated bodies swung backwards before collapsing to the ground.

Now Vorador could keenly feel the blunder he had made for now he was trapped in a besieged city, with savage animals on one side and desperate soldiers on the other. To make matters worse, in such heavy snow he could not simply fly out of Valeholm in the form of a Raven nor translocate himself; as unless he had a secure reference point, he would need line of sight to his intended destination. So now he was trapped in this war torn settlement, with enemies on all sides.

A sharp howl caught his attention and glancing up he saw that one of the Werewolves had scaled a rooftop and was signalling to a pack of its fellows from the vantage point. The feral creatures came galloping around a corner in the form of a snarling pack, perhaps thirty in all and when they saw the Vampire they charged straight for him.

Vorador knew better then to stand firm in the face of that savage charge. Throwing dignity to the winds he turned and ran. The Werewolves snarled as the plunged after him, churning up the blood stained snow as they ran on all fours. Despite this however Vorador was capable of moving a lot quicker than them. The deep snow did not impede him and he quickly manage to outpace them, quickly dodging in and out of streets with tight corners.

The Werewolves could run quickly in a straight line but corners slowed them down. Using that to his advantage, Vorador was able to quickly loose them through the cobble streets of Valeholm. Many of them began climbing up on rooftops to scout around, looking for him and snarling their frustration when they could not sight their prey.

The Vampire knew better by now then to let himself be seen. Slipping from wall of wall, he ensured that at all times he was hidden by the side of a building. In such chaos with the fighting on the walls and in the wider streets they would not be able to follow him by scent either.

Right now Vorador's priority was finding some way of escape. If perhaps he could fight his way onto the wall he could jump, but with the land outside full of hostile Werewolves that was not a sensible option.

Nor could he simply find some place defensible and wait until the Werewolves were driven away as he had no guarantee the men would win this struggle. He had to find some means of exiting the town covertly.

A nearby snarl alerted him. The Werewolves were close again, prowling through the streets methodically in their search for him. While they had lost sight of him and could not track by smell, he could not hide the tracks he had left in the snow. To the eyes of an unobservant human, they would be disguised by the many other tracks made by the struggling men and beasts but not from the skilled tracking eyes of a Werewolf.

Clearly he needed to get off the streets. Glancing around he saw that he had entered a small square fenced in by several buildings. The nearest was short and squat with several large chimneys erupting out of its roof. A wooden sign with a badly drawn loaf of bread on it was hanging just outside the door and in western style runic letters, the name read; "Johnsson's Bakery".

Its door was locked but that was not a problem. Vorador could break such a feeble barrier with one twist of his wrist if he desired. Doing so however would have made a lot of noise and alerted the hunters to his exact position. Instead he used his own measure of telekinesis to quietly force the lock to open. With no noise at all, he opened the door and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and relocking it.

The bakery was not impressive. Vorador in his time had seen grand kitchens fit to prepare feasts for kings. This was a peasant's poor imitation. Most of the bread on the shelves was old and stale and some of it even green around the edges. The shop was one room with a small narrow flight of stairs which perhaps led up to a sleeping loft above. At the back of the shop was a stone oven, its door wide open and interior dark.

The Vampire stood there for a long moment, his long ears raised and erect on the top of his head as he beheld the silent bakery.

"Come on where I can see you." He commanded flatly and with a tone of authority that had acquired over centuries of dealing with wilful fledglings and dull minded humans. There was a startled thump as a hidden figure stumbled against a wall just behind a set of shelves housing loaves of month old bread. "I said come out!" Vorador said again, his voice cracking like a whip.

Few lesser beings would refuse when he used that tone. Obediently the figure came forward even with the utmost reluctance.

The terrified man, clearly the baker himself, wore a tanned leather smock that was stained with grease and flour. He had the dumpy sort of round body that came with the sampling of his own produce on a regular basis. In both trembling hands he was holding a wooden Peel as if it were a war axe, although it lost much of its supposed intimidation factor due to the bits of fresh dough hanging from it.

He took one look at Vorador, saw the green skin, talons and other none human features and stumbled back against his own oven, his face going deadly pale.

"Stay back!" He said in a voice that broke into near unintelligible blubbering, holding his wooden implement out before him protectively. Vorador was about to ask something when suddenly the door behind him gave a sudden lurch, rattling against its lock. A feral snarl and scrapping of claws on wood told the Vampire instantly that the Werewolves had tracked him down.

A simply lock would not hold them for more than a few seconds and Vorador did not have time to flee. Quickly he backed off, turning around to face the door. In one swift motion he drew Marrow out from its sheath at his wide. There was not enough soon in here to effectively use the Axes to their best effect.

The baker screamed and ducked down behind his counter. The door shuddered twice from savage impacts before it broke at the hinges and fell inwards. Four Werewolves burst in, one after the other almost clawing over each over to be the first to get at the Vampire.

However they had made a mistake in doing so, for they were just as hampered by the small space as he was. They had longer arms meant for wide sweeps of their claws. They could not use those with the walls and low ceiling hampering them. They were far more accustomed to wide open areas where they could practise their coordinates pack strategies in bringing down their prey. Vorador however knew how to economise his movements for best effect even while hampered by physical hazards.

The first one came at him, thrusting its claws forward as if it meant to impale his chest with them. Vorador slide to the right to avoid the attack and as he danced clear, Marrow came up sharply and severed the beast's forearms in one stroke. As the Werewolf opened its mouth to let out a bellow of pain, the Vampire spun around and sliced the top half of its head off from just above its jaw.

The body collapsed onto its belly and began to pump thick torrents of blood onto the floor of the bakery. Instantly a second Werewolf came at him in its place, snapping its jaws forward attempting to catch him across the flank with its fangs.

Vorador backhanded the creature with one swipe of the talons of his free hand, cleaving it across the snout. The Werewolf whined in pain, packing off a few steps and holding a hand to the gash. The Vampire's talons had bit deep, slicing all the way down to show exposed bone.

Enraged at the injury, the beast came at him again, giving in to the instinct of its namesake animal and lunging at his legs in the age old hamstringing tactic. Vorador of course had been expected the creature to do that.

He twisted in a seemingly impossible motion and kicked the Werewolf in the chin with enough force to send its head snapping backwards. There was a loud sickening crunch at the beasts neck was broken in that kick. Its body tumbled head over heels until it crashed into the display of mouldy bread, shattering the shelves on impact and sending loaves well past their prime scattering onto the floor.

The third and fourth wolves decided to come at him together, both attacking from either side. The beast on the left came at him high, lunging forward with jaws agape with its intent to rip out his throat very clear. The one that came in from the right had its claws raised high and coming down in a deadly arch that if un-avoided would cleave a torso in half to the waist.

Vorador ducked swiftly under the lunge of the snapping jaws and as the creature passed overhead, the Vampire neatly disembowelled it with Marrow's serrated edge. Without pausing he took a hand full of the bloody red boiling intestines and tossed the gutted beast right at its fellow. The two collided and tumbled to the ground, howling with pain and snarling with fury.

Vorador was on them in a moment. His sword descended once, twice and silenced them both.

With the corpses of the wolves lying all around him, the Vampire straightened and quickly glanced back towards the open door. He could near no more Werewolves for the moment but that did not mean that more were not coming. He had to move on and quickly.

He turned to regard the baker, who was still ineffectually hiding behind the counter. With a grunt of annoyance, Vorador walked around the counter and grabbed the man by the front of his smock, hauling him back up to his feet. The man was so terrified that he had wet himself, dripping onto the floor in a stinking puddle.

"Please don't hurt me!" He blubbered almost incoherently, face gone so white he looked as if he were made out of snow.

"Stay your cowardly tongue, whelp." Vorador told him in heavy contempt, holding the man steady despite his meagre struggling. "I require a way to traverse this town without danger." He continued.

"Don't hurt me!" The baker simply repeated, clearly not listening. With a snarl Vorador lifted him up higher so that his feet dangled off the ground.

"Tell me what I need to know and I won't rip out your heart." He told the man in a disturbingly neutral tone of voice. "Now... answer my question."

Surrounded by so much death and gore, the baker got the point immediately. With a trembling hand he pointed down to the point where they were standing.

"T...there's an entrance to an underground passage under the carpet sir." He stammered with a wheeze. "It links all most of the buildings in town to the cellar of the church." Vorador glanced down in response. A thin, cheap and shabby red carpet was spread haphazardly across the floor but it did not quite cover the edges of a trap door.

"And from there?" He asked, still holding the baker above the floor.

"T...t...to the mines under the mountains, s...s...sir." The man replied, still squirming and writhing. In his fright he was stammering even worse. "The p...priests used it as a means of bringing in contraband, like wine and...v...v...voluptuous women."

Vorador raised an eyebrow and then smiled, letting his fangs show.

"How wonderfully decadent." He said with a chuckle for such disregard for ecclesiastical law. Priests remained the same the world over and throughout all time; hypocrites who preached humility, subservience and humble living to the common folk while living lives of unmatched luxury and elevation.

Prowling through the dark tunnels of a mine was not exactly what he had intended for in a way to leave this settlement, but given the pressing circumstances it would have to do. Unceremoniously he dropped the baker, who landed on his backside in the puddle of his own piss.

"You have been of service." The Vampire told him. "Lock yourself in your bread pantry and don't come out."

The baker took his advice immediately and slammed the door of the small storage compartment behind him. It was entirely possible that the man would never emerge from his pantry for the rest of his natural life.

The trap door descended into a small one room cellar, mostly full of nailed down barrels which in turn were covered in thick cobwebs. Behind a stack of them was a false wall that opened out into a crudely carved tunnel. As the baker was said, the narrow passage joined up with others to make a crisscrossing web of underground tunnels. There was no illumination in these makeshift tunnels so Vorador had to conjure a small orb of magical light in order to see where he was going. All the tunnels seemed to heading in a westerly direction and from the layout of the town as he had even briefly observed it, the Vampire knew the Church lay in that direction.

From above he could hear the fighting still going on, although now slightly muffled. From the amount of human cries, he judged that surprisingly the soldiers were holding their own against the onslaught of the Werewolves.

Eventually the tunnel he was moving through began to angle up until he came across a set of chiselled stone steps. Ascending these quickly, the Vampire soon found himself against the back of another false wall. The barrier was held in place by a simply brass mechanism operated by a switch. Vorador pushed this down and the false wall rumbled, stone grinding on stone, before it pushed back and then slide into a hidden hole in the wall.

The baker had been quite truthful. The passage did indeed end up at the Church, for Vorador found himself stepping out into a gloomy and dank collection of catacombs. Most temples had at least a small crypt that was kept for the interment of the communities more illustrious deceased. Navigating his way through old stone tombs that smelt of unwholesome fungus, the Vampire crossed the dark chamber to the large iron door baring the exit.

It hadn't been opened in some time and its latch was nearly rusted shut. Despite this and being quite heavy, one solid kick was enough to force it ajar. It took some effort however to force it open wide enough for Vorador to squeeze past.

The doorway lead up through a stone passageway and up into the cloister of the church itself. It was a fairly typical religious construction for this time period, with the traditional stained glass windows depicting various saints relevant to the local community. The biggest window, right behind the alter itself showed a strange looking woman. She was depicted in very strange leather grab and had a wide rim hat. She was shown reaching up towards the sun, which had an eye in its centre. Beneath her image, the name 'OPHIEL' was in large stylised letters. Vorador stared at the image for a moment. He had seen her likeness before, in the temples of the Wheel of Fate that had once stood in the Ancient Vampire Citadel although there depicted in fresco and mural rather than stained glass. This figure was Ophiel-Divus, one of the few humans elevated to that lofty divine rank.

So this temple was consecrated to one of the Divus? Odd, that for such a dogmatic monotheistic religion they had deified the Divus into a pantheon of demi-gods. Such was the way of any religion, each self proclaimed prophet that came along becoming deities, even if they hadn't intended.

The baker had not said exactly where the entrance to this supposed tunnel to the mines was located in this Church. But it had to be hidden somewhere in this main chamber, perhaps by the alter itself. Suddenly the main doors of the Church flung itself open. Vorador half turned quickly in response, one hand poised to draw Marrow and another going for the handle of Havoc.

But only one figure was staggering into the Church. Vorador instantly recognised the rose red armoured figure of William De'Segnir. He had seen some fierce fighting judging by the dents in his armour and bloody gashes across his cheek. From the way he slightly limped it seemed he may have cracked a few ribs.

The prince staggered up towards the alter, his arm limp and dripping blood leaving a trail of red drops across the stone floor but keeping a firm grip on his sword. When he saw Vorador he came to an abrupt stop. He blinked several times to clear his vision and then managed a lopsided grin.

"So we meet again, Vorador the illustrious Vampire." He said, panting slightly out of breath. With some effort he managed to pull himself up to sit on one of the pews. "Under less then cordial circumstances though, I fear."

"Do you always banter so much?" Vorador asked disdainfully, discreetly judging the extent of the young man's wounds. He was in some pain, that was clear, but none of the injuries he had received was life threatening.

The Prince made a weak laugh and pushed his chainmail hood back off his head, letting his hair hang loose about his face.

"It's part of my charm." He replied, wincing slightly. He paused to glance back over his shoulder at the door of the church he had left ajar. The sounds of battle coming from outside echoed through the cavern like temple. "And frankly, I need all the humour I can get at this present moment."

Vorador's ears flicked to their erect posture and he listened, his face creasing into a frown. If the noise of the carnage outside was any indication, it would not be long before the chaos invaded even this small pocket of calm.

"I just lost my brothers today." William remarked in a hollow sounding voice, turning away from the door to look up at Ophiel-Divus' image in the stained glass. "Michael never had much time for me, pompous jackass, but Simon was always there whenever I stumbled as a young child." He grunted with a rueful expression. "He never listened to my opinions but he was always courteous." He gave the Vampire a side long look. "Do you have any brothers?"

"Many where given the Dark Gift alongside me, I was just the first." Vorador replied, keeping his eyes on the door. Slowly his hand drifted to the handles of the two Axes and he hefted them to his side at the ready.

"I mean natural siblings." William clarified. "You were once human weren't you?" Vorador was silent for a moment.

"Possibly, I don't know." He admitted. "But that was a very long time ago and if I had siblings, their descending bloodlines would acknowledge no kinship with me."

The Prince let out a breath and shifted his weight on his seat, the armour he wore creaking loudly in response.

"Do Vampire's put more stock in the families created by their siring then?" He asked. Vorador gave a short nod.

"Who else would accept us but more of our own?" He asked back and then glanced at the young man sceptically. "You're wasting energy talking." He added.

"Yes, indeed." William grunted again and with some effort managed to get back up to his feet. After taking that moment to rest and regain his breath, he seemed to have restored some strength. His youth was an asset. "I'm afraid they'll be in here after me in another few moments."

"Yes, they are coming." Vorador concurred and flexed his wrists, letting the handles of the axes slide down until he was holding them by their ends.

There was a moment of silence and then a lone arctic Werewolf slipped in through the open door, its white fur stained red with shed blood. Sighting the two of them it snarled and began to slowly approach through them down the aisle. Soon it was joined by the second Werewolf, then a third and fourth. More began slipping in until there were no less than twenty Werewolves facing them. Blood and gore dripped from their long black claws over the floor.

William grunted in both frustration and pain and took a moment to push his chainmail hood back over the top of his head.

"What business do you have here, dogs?" Vorador asked flatly as the beasts began to circle around the edges of the Church, all of them moving in unison with his claws at the ready. "Do animals need some meaningless victory over the armies of men?"

One of the Werewolves leaned up on its hind legs and laughed cruelly, the sound very odd coming from its canine mouth. The sound was more of a bark then a laugh.

"You Vampires... so greedy, so self-centred, so...individualistic." It said, seeming to chew the words. "You understand nothing of the glorious union of the pack, the unison of thought and intent... all guided by the wisdom of the alpha male."

Strangely William did not seemed surprise to hear them talk but Vorador ignored the human and kept his eyes on the creature in front of him, all the while well aware of the others manoeuvring for position all around them.

"You follow orders just like any subordinate." Vorador remarked with contempt. "Don't pretend there's some grand philosophical truth behind it."

Another Werewolf leapt up onto a pew, its long bushy tails swinging back and forth behind it.

"We follow the ideal of the alpha male." It said in a deeper voice than the first speaker. "His vision is a marvellous joy to us all. A new civilisation for the discarded warriors who fought for the liberation of man."

The Vampire tilted his head to one side with a lopsided, ironic grin parting his lips. He chuckled lightly.

"Liberation?" He repeated, eyes slipping back and forth to mark the positions of the creatures. "You would call tearing down a sophisticated and powerful culture and replacing it with howling barbarous zealots-'liberation'?" He spat off to one side in contempt. "All you did was help mankind exchange one tyrant for another."

"You speak as if our forebears had any say in the matter!" Another snarled, slipping around behind them by the alter and up onto it. "They were mere quarrymen, simple toilers of the mountains, before being forced into the forms of animals."

"But Remus made the best of it!" A fourth added, coming up alongside the first speaker. "His vision for our new home guides us." It drew back its lips over its long canine fangs. "Our howls will come out of the north like rolling thunder and announce death to all in our path!"

At that signal, the Werewolves all made a collective, snarling and savage lunge. Vorador had seen them tense a moment before that so when they came at him, he met them with Havoc and Malice in full swing. The Axes almost seem to sing as they cleaved through fur, flesh and bone. Two of the beasts were rent from crotch to gizzard and sent flying in pieces across the church to collide with the walls with wet splats.

Another Werewolf tumbled into two pieces, sliced in half horizontally at the waist. Guts and other organs important to the large intestine boiled out everywhere.

A fourth beast leapt over the pews and came at the Vampire from above. Vorador rolled forward out of the axe then arched back in one graceful acrobatic lunge and slammed Malice into the Werewolf's back. There was a very loud snapping sound as the spine shattered from the massive blow. Paralysed by such an injury, the creature collapsed howling in pain to the floor. Vorador put it out of its misery with one quick swipe across the back of its exposed neck with Havoc.

William himself was only human and as such had neither the enhanced strength nor reflexes of even a fledgling Vampire. His only protective asset was his armour which protected him against the majority of the bites and scraping claws of the few Werewolves that attempted to surround and bring him down. Despite his injuries William also proved to be quite strong, for a human, and was able to knock aside any of the creatures that attempted to claw at his unprotected face. His sword slashed back and forth, drawing blood despite the thick furry hide in its way.

Vorador swung left and then sharply to the right to avoid the frenzied swipes of claws that lunged at him. The Werewolves recognised that he was the greatest threat and many of them were converging on him, circling before darting in as they employed their traditional hunting tactic. Vorador knew better to simply stand still and let them bite off bits and pieces of his defences. It would not be long before they charged together to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

To distract them Vorador feinted forward as if he intended to attack one of them. Predictably they moved as one backwards and out of his reach, as if they were of one mind. While such coordination was indeed an asset to a creature that survived by the hunt, they had carried it too far. When one of them flinched they all flinched. By backing away then had given Vorador the room he needed.

Tilted his body forward and lunged, the Vampire used his own inertia to begin spinning. With both Axes held out to the ends of their handles, he began that deadly swirling technique which had proved so effective before outside the walls of Valeholm.

In a blur he cut through the creatures, Havoc and Malice biting through flesh muscle and bone with ease. Bits and pieces of hacked Werewolves went flying off in all directions, splattering across the floor and walls and coating the inside of the Church with blood and viscera. Spinning around and around in such a deadly whirlwind of axe blades, Vorador moved steadily across the church. Anything caught his path was ripped to shreds, including many of the wooden pews. The seats exploded into shards as the axes crunched through them with no difficulty.

One Werewolf stumbled as such wooden splinters pierced his furry hide. That momentary slip was all it required for the lethal swirling Vampire to catch up with the creature. Over and Over Havoc and Malice slammed into its body, carving like a butchers knife through the flesh. The discarded body parts scattered while hunks of meat and hide clung to the blade edges of the axes.

Meeting such a tough obstruction, Vorador was forced to slow his momentum and almost come to a stop. The Werewolves were not going to let such a moment of laxity go to waste. Five of the creatures made a concerted effort, lunging as one to tackle the Vampire across the midsection. Together they rushed and before Vorador could prevent them shoved him down and pinned him to the floor.

In the tumble the Axes were knocked from his hands and sent spinning across the floor to clatter against the side of the alter, far out of his grasp.

Vorador barley noticed as his attention was currently on the many savage creatures pinning him to the floor. It took all the strength Vorador could muster to keep them from biting out his throat and over vitals with their powerful jaws. His talons clawed back at them but by themselves they could not penetrate their furry hide.

Suddenly William was there. The Prince came rushing forward and with his sword he thrust forward, impaling one of the distracted Werewolves, trying to gut the Vampire, through the head. It stiffened and collapsed instantly. The other Werewolves on him turned to snarl at the interference but Vorador could now reach the sword at his side. The blade Marrow came whistling out of its sheath and sliced through two of the creature's chest to render their hearts and lungs, causing them to cough up blood through their muzzles.

With a mighty heave he dislodged the other two and got back up to his feet in an instant. The Werewolves was regrouping at the other end of the church. In a moment they would charge as one mass of savage claws and bring them both down.

Cornered and with no other choice, Vorador reinforced his stance and began to raise his free hand towards them.

The Serioli elemental disciplines were not an easy skill to master and using them in combat directly required a great deal of energy. Vorador preferred to employ them only in his forging but when surrounded by so many enemies and with no means of escape, calling upon such a technique in battle was his only alternative. Vorador had been trained in the methods of how to control all the elements but due to his specialisation in blacksmithing he excelled in pyrokinesis.

With a uniform snarl the Werewolves charged, galloping forward in an unstoppable attack of fangs and claws.

A simply spark was all that he needed to ignite a raging inferno. Marrow swept down across the stone floor of the church and the spark from the collision jumped high into the air. It hung there for a moment for blooming like a flower in spring into a rolling wall of flames. The roar it produced as it erupted forth was deafening. All the air in the Church seemed to be sucked into the blossoming fire and in the implosion of force every stained glass window in the building shattered into thousands of multi coloured fragments.

The fire burst forth like a tidal wave and it caught several of the Werewolves at point blank range. They had just enough time to let out either whimpers or howls of alarm before were instantly reduced to blacked wisps that toppled backwards to the floor, twisted and fixed in grotesque parodies of their former visages. The fire continued on until it smashed into the end of the Church, scorching the wall and dissipating over it to leave a trail of complete devastation.

Some of the quicker Werewolves had been able to dodge the full force of the firewall but for their effort had had their fur set ablaze. Howling in pain they scampered across the floor of the church for the open entrance, perhaps trying to find some snow to extinguish themselves with.

Vorador lowered his hand, feeling his muscled strain and his head swim. Unleashing that fire wall had taken a great deal of strength. He would have to feed soon in order to replenish what he had just used up.

"Interesting technique." William remarked in some healthy respect, looking out from behind the alter where he had quickly jumped behind in order to avoid being roasted alive. The shaken prince paused to survey the flicking embers of the aftermath and the twisted black remains of those creatures which had been caught in its wake. Shaking he edged out, his hand firm around the hilt of his sword. "Is that some dark Vampire magic?" He asked sounding genuinely interested despite his fright.

Vorador tensed, looking around at the remaining Werewolves in the Church. That use of Serioli fire had dramatically reduced their numbers down to less than four and they seemed very unwilling to go anywhere near them.

"Serioli elemental fire, if you must know." He replied after taking a moment to regain his breath. William also kept his eyes on the creatures, although his expression was painfully awed.

"The legendary weapon forgers?" He asked. In this era, the Serioli would no longer be remembered as the secular Order of Ancient Vampires it had originally been but rather known as a fable of unequalled blacksmiths who could make the finest weapons in all of Nosgoth. Such people calling themselves Serioli in this time would be pale imitations of the original, passing down the traditions of their forbears.

"I used to be a member." Vorador said, pausing to wipe sweat away from his forehead.

"Oh, do tell." William looked eager for the story. The Vampire gestured and using telekinesis he summoned both Havoc and Malice back to his side.

"Perhaps another time." He replied.

Suddenly the doors of the Church were flung wide open and a dozen armoured men came charging in, most carrying swords but a number with crossbows. At their head was Ser Barentein, his large broadsword in his hand.

"Your Highness!" He called out, still from behind the visor of his helmet.

The remaining Werewolves, seeing they were outnumbered, did not attack but instead turned and ran. One by one they scaled the walls and leap out the shattered windows to safety. The men let them go as under Barentein's direction they moved quickly up to protect the prince.

"A report, if you please Barentein?" William asked, holding up a hand for forestall him from speaking further.

"The wolves are in retreat, your Highness!" The knight told him with the earnest joy of delivering such good tidings. "They flee from the walls as the cowardly dogs that they are."

As one the many armed men behind Barentein held up their weapons and in unison they called out: "Huzzah! Huzzah!" The call echoed out of the church and the men outside took up the chant until the defenders were all calling out their jubilation over the lifting of the vicious siege. Barentein glanced up from his Prince and stiffened when he saw Vorador standing a short distance away. Quickly he stepped around William and protectively stood between him and the Vampire.

"And no doubt it was this foul dark abomination that called them down upon us!" He said and the men all looked down, finally seeing Vorador themselves. "Everyone knows Vampires can control beasts and monsters!" The men grimly moved forward in response, the crossbowmen rising up to get clear shots at the Vampire with their bolts.

Vorador knew he would have to move quickly but after expending such energy in one burst he was light headed and sluggish.

"Twaddle, Ser knight!" William stated in a sharp tone of command which did not reflect his youth at all. Barentein flinched back from him. "Pure rubbish and you ought to know better." The Prince rudely barged past his bodyguard. "Vampire or not, he fought by my side. Without his aid I would not have survived the demonic pack set on me." Angrily he pushed back his chainmail hood. "I will not repay such courtesy by turning on him the minute our mutual enemy has fled."

The men all looked startled and confused at this declaration.

"You would trust a blood sucker, milord?" One of them, a squat man with a braided red beard, replied in a thick accent. William turned his head sharply to glare at him.

"More than any of you!" He snapped. He swept them all with an angry glare, his face twisted in savage fury. "You all failed to protect my brothers when it was your sworn duty to do so!" The men recoiled from his accusation and righteous anger and they looked anywhere but at him. "This Vampire protected me on a whim and I've more respect for that then I do for your incompetence!"

Barentein glanced quickly between the Prince and the men then stepped forward, putting a restraining hand on William's shoulder.

"Your Highness, please." He said in a low but urgent tone of voice. William glared back at him with a flat unfriendly expression. "With thine brothers dead, thou art now the crown prince. Thou hast to keep the respect of the men."

William simply shrugged out of his grip.

"Why?" He asked flatly. "They failed their duty and I won't sugar coat it."

"Thou hast to earn the men's respect, not the other way around." His bodyguard reminded him, casting a worried glance back over at the armed soldiers.

"Then I'll earn it with honesty, not flattery." The Prince replied. Just then another soldier came running into the church, skidding to a stop a short distance away.

"Your Highness!" He panted, slightly out of breath. "The wolves are retreating to the east." He reported, gesturing back the way he had come vaguely. "We have horsemen following them."

"The stinking feral beasts are taking the same route that the King's column took." Barentein said in response this intelligence.

"The King is in danger?!" One of the soldiers asked in alarm, the others looking worried. Barentein shook his head.

"The army will protect our sovereign." He said confidently. William snorted derisively at this unconcern.

"Like my brothers were so valiantly protected by their men?" The Prince asked with heavy ironic scepticism.

"Werewolves are largely ambush predators." Vorador said unemotionally into the pause that followed. "They will take the army by surprise." William looked down at the floor for a long moment, his brow furrowed. Then with a nod he looked up again. Decisively he turned to face his men.

"I want any man that can still walk ready to march within the hour!" He commanded, barging past a surprised Barentein. "What town is my Father attempting to siege?" The Prince demanded of the messenger.

"Weirstein, your Highness." The man replied.

"Send a horseman on ahead, your fastest beast and most competent courier." William told him with stern authority. "I want my father warned of the danger!" He half turned, looking back over his shoulder. "Well, Vorador perhaps you might..."

But the Vampire was gone.

The snowfall outside had abated and while it was still misty, the weather was sufficient enough to allow for flight. Driven by a sudden need, Vorador flowed into the familiar form of the Raven and soared towards the sky. Within minutes Valeholm was a mere collection of blocks far below and the carnage of such a terrible siege invisible.

-0-

**_"The name rang like a resounding bell note in my mind. Weirstein. I had heard it before of course but somehow, in this context and this time and place, it seemed to unlock some repressed and submerged part of my mind. The resulting stream of information was like a stabbing needle in the back of my brain that drove me on. Weirstien. I knew the place. I knew my home." _**

-0-


	13. 12 Remus

The blizzard passed on farther to the west, clearing the mountains and leaving the Eastern plain a clear and almost unbroken blanket of white. Through such thick snow William's reinforcements would have to push savagely and even if they managed it, it would be days before they could possibly even hope to catch up with the main column of their army. On the wing, Vorador flew over all the obscured terrain unimpeded, pushed on by a strange compulsion that he could only call insistent nostalgia.

He could not say why he felt so compelled to make such speed. Certainly not for the sake of the life of a petty king of Man. The mere name 'Weirstein' was like a pulsing, constant reminder in the back of his mind, a motivating whip to his intentions. Even as he flew his mind ravenously began rummaging through the memories that name had unlocked within him.

In the face of this powerful mental stabbing, Vorador felt that he could put his search for the Lost City and its concealed Celestial Arrow aside for a short while and detour to indulge this suddenly sparked curiosity.

Ajatar-Cadre had told him that somewhere in the East on the shores of a lake of geysers and sulphurous water, Janos Audron had found him as a young Human boy and taken him back to the Citadel. Vorador had recalled nothing of his former, mortal life. As far as he had been concerned, his life began with his enrolling as a novice in the Order of the Serioli.

But the utterance of 'Weirstein', used in such a context by the soldiers back in Valeholm, had unlocked that submerged part of his mind. He did not recall everything and what did come back were uncertain images that were indistinct in his imagination, but he did remember that Weirstein had been the place where, as a Human, he had been born.

There he had lived until the age of seven, set out in the surrounding fields to watch the cows and ensure none of the semi-wild cattle wandered off. Even the very young were put to that menial task as back in those ancient days when farming and animal husbandry was rudimentary at best, the maintenance of the herds on which the community depended was essential. Vorador, however, remembered that something had happened to drive him from that community. Something had caused him to flee from there in fright. Exactly what that fear had been, however, still eluded him. It seemed not all of his long forgotten Human past had been unlocked. Many details were still obscured.

As night began to fall and the full moon rose up high to make the snow below glow faintly, he flew over the expanse of a wide but fully frozen river. The river stretched from the southern horizon to the north, where it emptied out into a delta in the form of an expansive arctic swamp. Beyond that, to the north, was a jagged, storm tossed gulf. Distantly on the horizon, rising out of that expanse of water were the fang-like protrusions of massive rocks.

Ignoring the scenery, but marking it as a recognisable landmark nonetheless, Vorador pressed on to the east. As he flew on, he began to sight more and more signs of the passage of a large number of men. Not even the heavy snowfall could hide that from a bird's eye view. Where thousands of feet had successively trodden the ground into mud, the snow grey with the slush underneath, this left a distinct trail to follow.

The king's army, perhaps a force of twenty to thirty thousand men, had proceeded up along the coast keeping in tight formation. The general of this army was experienced enough to know that it would be unwise to spread one's forces out while in unfriendly territory during a march, giving your enemy the opportunity to ambush small parts of your army. If the width of their passage was any indication then they were walking single file, a good ploy to use to hide their exact numbers from unfriendly scouts.

Unfortunately such precautions were not sufficient to elude the enhanced hunting senses and practises of the Werewolves. Even from so far aloft, Vorador could see the beasts. The remnants of the pack which had besieged Valeholm were galloping east as fast as they could, covering the distance on foot with ease despite the thick snow. Vorador was having trouble keeping up with them even while flying.

Coming up to a swelling of land that rose up into a short range of hills, Vorador caught the swiftly rising air currents and ascended rapidly. For a short while he was lost in the obscuring greyness of the clouds. When he descended again, he was on the far side of the hills and flying out over a jagged terrain of gullies and interconnecting valleys. Some terrible earthquake back in the depths of antiquity must have torn the earth asunder, leaving it so scarred that from aloft it looked like some monstrous titan Werewolf had slashed the ground with its claws several times. Each of these valleys had streams running through them and their steep walls were thickly lined with evergreen trees. The area reminded Vorador immensely and with no small distaste of the canyons that had been used by traders going to and fro from Meridian during the rule of the Sarafan fascists, which in this time was still more than a century away.

Perched on the edge of a cliff-like precipice that towered over these thickly forested crevices was another walled settlement. Unlike Valeholm, left behind to the west, this fortified position was very different in style. Valeholm had essentially been a western colony settlement, made with imported materials and distained to follow native constructing practises.

Weirstein was an Eastern habitation and its construction was very different. No brick and mortar had been used in the making of this place. All the buildings were made out of solid blocks of grey stone, the same stone as the ground all around it and polished to an almost perfect smoothness. The roofs of each building were slate but reinforced by supports of copper and brass. The town almost looked like an outgrowth of the cliff on which it had been constructed, culminating in an impressively tall square watch tower that overlooked the entire scarred area.

Flying from the top of this tower were several long red banners, but it was difficult to make out the icon of the faction in control of the settlement. It was enough detail, however, to tell that the armies of the Northern Kingdom had not yet taken the town.

From the air Vorador began a lazy circling sweep, looking down and around at all that was laid out below him. Weirstein was different now, advanced from the primitive hovel he recalled. Much had been added since he had left it as a boy but there was still no question that this was the place where he had lived during his infant years.

Circling it far aloft, Vorador simply stared his fill at the place. For a long moment he was oblivious to everything else. Suddenly, however, he became aware of the mental trap that the place was, a pit of nostalgic paralysation. If he were to be drawn into such an entangling trap he might never get out again. With no small reluctance, his mind not quite his own, he tore his attention away from the feeling of connection with a long forgotten past and back to the here and now.

As he did so, the unmistakable sound of battle reached him. He heard the crash of swords, the blow of axes, the whistle of arrows flying through the air and the soul curdling cries of the mortally wounded.

Passing away from the town, just to the southwest, he saw the conflict that he had embarrassingly not even noticed before.

The king's army was as large as he had anticipated, many thousands of men all armed with the cruel weapons used by the Northern men which intimidated many other nations. However, their general had made the mistake of marching them into one of the valleys in this maze-like area. Perhaps they had intended to approach Weirstein unseen, using the valley to hide their passage.

However, they had sacrificed the high ground for no gain as another large group of men had taken up positions on the overlooking cliff tops. There were not as many of them as the larger force below but they had good positions and were using them to full effect, raining down a thick arrow storm on the westerners while they themselves were out of range of a bow shot from the valley floor.

Vorador would have frowned but in the form of a raven he did not have the facial muscles to accomplish this. Perhaps he had been giving their general more credit than he deserved. If he had been commanding this force, he would have deployed scouts across those cliff tops in order to prevent such ideal ambush sites. Moreover he would not have tried to march his entire force through a valley to attempt a sneak attack upon the settlement, as it was obvious that Weirstein had a perfect position from which to view all possible approaches. It would have been better to use those valleys to hide the troops from direct sight, and then stage diversionary attacks to push the defenders out of position before beginning the main assault.

Flying in lower, Vorador skimmed the top of the valley while keeping prudently out of range of any bow. While the men were distracted and unlikely to fire at him, he did not want some bored reserve archer taking a shot at him.

Finally he flapped a few times and settled to perch on the bare branch of a tree that was growing precariously out of the side of the canyon wall. From here he watched events unfold dispassionately. He was not going to make the same mistake twice and get involved in the direct fighting in this conflict. However, the smell of such spilt blood down below was undeniably enticing and he did still need to replenish lost energies after the gargantuan elemental control he had unleashed back in Valeholm's church. There would be opportunity to feed later, when wounded stragglers fell behind whichever armed force lost this battle.

Cavalry bearing the banners of the Northern Kingdom were galloping up a gorge to reach the cliff edges, their horses having trouble on the gravel slope. They moved fast enough, however, to avoid most of the arrows fired their way. Soon they had ascended to the ridge and in a tight formation were running over the enemy marksmen like an incoming tide over the sand of a beach.

Vorador was paying more attention to the men the Northerners were fighting. He saw at once they were natives to the East. They had darker skin than the men of the central Nosgothic plain and their eyes were angular and many of them had had their moustaches styled out to either side very much like tusks. The armour they wore was very different in style to the furs and metal plating used in the west. Their armour was made of thick reinforced leather which took on a strange hedgehog-like look with the scavenged horns, fangs and tusks of various animals riveted to their elbows, shoulders and outer thighs. It was almost like a mocking version of the thorn-like armour worn by the officers of the Northern Kingdom and by William himself.

In these native people of the East, Vorador saw perhaps for the first time in eons, the seeds of his own being. He did not remember what his physical appearance had been like when he had still been Human, it was so long ago now, but if this was indeed the place of his origins then logic dictated he would have looked like them.

Taking his attention away from the battle, the Vampire looked up towards the settlement again. He would be lying if he said that he was not sorely tempted to search this place, to uncover any clue to his first origins. But he had to keep his priorities now. His chief concern should be finding some clue to the location of the Lost City, not indulging his sudden urge to poke around in a long forgotten past.

However now, he supposed, he was out of leads. He was finally here, undeniably in the strange and untamed East as he had been directed. The only question was: where to go from here? Methodically scouring this portion of the continent for a location treasure hunters had been seeking for centuries was quite out of the question.

In such an enterprise, logic was the best detective tool. The city would have to be physically located in an isolated area, a place so cut off from the rest of the world that it would be impossible to simply walk there. In addition, the location would have to be shielded from view even from the air to prevent mages and sorcerers like the members of the Circle of Nine from employing magic to find it. A mountaintop plateau, perhaps? No, that was too simple.

Suddenly and with a sharp reverberation that echoed through the canyons, a howl rang out. It was the familiar and hauntingly unmistakable howl of the barrel-chested Werewolf. The sound was so loud that it pierced the haze of battle and all men paused to look up. Vorador, however, had sighted the source of the howl even before they had. The sharp eyes of the bird allowed him to see very clearly its origin.

The arctic Werewolf standing on the edge of the cliff was truly massive; three times the size of the others crouched around it, the thing was a true monster. It was hard to see details from this distance but the size and proportional strength of such a creature was unmistakable.

The monstrous Werewolf paused to look over the men scattered below in the valley and on the ridges, then with an almost imperious gesture it raised one paw-like hand and stabbed it forward. Snarling and crying out for blood and fresh meat, the regrouped masses of the feral horde poured down the rocks of the cliff towards the startled armies.

The enemy forces were the first to flee, breaking to run past up the slopes towards the debatable safety of Weirstein before the men they had been fighting a moment ago even realised they had gone. They wasted no time in putting their enemies between the onrushing white Werewolves and themselves. Such was definitely the course of prudence.

The men of this army, having never seen such terrible creatures before, flinched back from the awful pack of onrushing monsters. That moment of startled fright was fatal. Weakened by fear the men were almost swallowed up by the charge of the creatures. Blood and worse was scattered into the snow, dismembered limbs twitching and sundered heads staring in horrified surprise.

The army's swordsmen fell back in a demoralised rout, screaming in terror but the archers behind them were more firm. At a barked command from their commanding officer, they rose up and let loose a volley of arrows that flew over the cringing heads of the infantry to slam full into the charging Werewolves. Many tumbled head of heals, killed instantly by the arrows slammed through their skulls. Their fellows, however, just bounded over them and came on howling in delight at the slaughter to come.

Vorador watched events unfold from his perch dispassionately.

-0-

**_"I was not Kain, to foolishly dabble in Human politics. It would be of greater benefit to me to simply be the observer and then perform my investigations once the chaos had abated. The wisdom of ages told me this was the better option."_**

-0-

He turned his feathered head and looked up, narrowing his eyes. At the far end of the battlefield, the massive Werewolf he had seen on the cliff before was galloping on all fours. At its side were over a dozen of its regular sized kin. As one they were making towards the cavalry, which instead of trying to charge the Werewolves was withdrawing away from the battlefield. Vorador saw why instantly. In amongst the horses was the fluttering standard of the Northern Kingdom, which meant that amongst their number was the king himself.

While Vorador cared nothing if the king of some meaningless Human kingdom lived or died, his curiosity was stirred by the large Werewolf. Back in Valeholm, those of this feral breed he had spoken to had said that their extended pack was led by an alpha male.

Its sheer size and the clear dominant position this huge beast had over the others could only mean that this was indeed that very alpha male. An organised army of Werewolves, in thrall to a clear military mind housed in such a monstrous form was not something to easily be ignored. It had clear wide reaching ramifications.

-0-

**_"But if this ravaging Werewolf pack continued to plague me then it would be best to know of it now and, if necessary, pre-emptive action would have to be taken."_**

-0-

Quickly Vorador slipped back to his own form and dropped down from the branch. As he did so, falling down towards the ground he slipped into his newest form, that of the giant spider. In this spindly form he was able to land on the branch of a tree that formed a short forest clinging to the side of the valley wall. Under the cover of the branches and on all eight legs the Vampire scuttled along. Leaping from branch to branch he covered a lot of ground quickly, making his way up towards the copse where the cavalry were rounded and attempting to make a stand against the onrushing Werewolves.

The anatomy of the arachnid was perfect for covering short distances in a rapid amount of time, especially over random obstacles such as the trees and soon Vorador found himself outdistancing the beasts. Quickly he scuttled down the side of a tree to the ground.

That proved to be a mistake as a large group of archers had been waiting in the brush alongside the entrance to the copse as part of a clear ambush which the army had planned for the approaching creatures. While in this form he had no access to his higher senses so Vorador dropped down almost right on top of them.

Hearing him come down, several archers turned around to look back. They took one look at the spider, about the size of a larger dog and let out cries of horror and alarm. They stumbled back against the other archers in their ambush and soon it was chaos. Many of them blundered out into plain sight in their panic, ruining the surprise attack completely when the galloping Werewolves saw them.

Vorador did not have time to change back into his regular form to fight these men so he employed one of the spider's natural abilities in order to keep them at bay. Rearing back on his hind legs he arched his enlarged abdomen forward and discharged a fine spray of silk. It caught the startled men and ensnared them, entangling their arms and legs and causing many to fall over and get stuck. Several managed to free their arms to try and fire their long bows but their aim was now so erratic that they sent their missiles off almost directly up into the air.

Vorador scuttled past them quickly, perhaps leaving those who would survive the battle with intense arachnophobia for the rest of their lives.

Passing through the long grass on the side of the clearing, Vorador pushed thoughts of spiders away from his mind and flowed back gracefully into his own form. He was only just in time; not to act but only to bear witness.

The Werewolves were charging into the clearing in a wave. The biggest one paused at the edge of the glade and towered up on its hind legs, rising to an impressive nine feet tall. Close up Vorador could make out more details of the creature.

It was more muscular across the shoulders than its kin and had a shorter tail, which was bushy almost like that of a fox. The muzzle was shorter and distorted and somehow retained some vestige of the Human the creature had once been. The long arms were thickly muscled and the hands, more like paws, each ended in claws at least six inches long.

"You will not deny me, soft ones!" It declared at the horsemen and its voice, despite its more Human-like features, was echoing as if spoken from the bottom of a deep well. "Tonight I hunt royal game!" Vorador quickly reached behind him for the axes, Havoc and Malice, but even as he did the monstrous thing lunged forward.

With a mighty bound it shouldered men and horses aside through sheer physical strength and bore down on one rider in the centre of the protected circle of cavalry, ploughing through the defence as if it were not even there. At that same moment the other Werewolves in its pack charged as well and were on the other men and horses before any of them could bring up their weapons.

The massacre that followed turned even Vorador's stomach and he had seen wanton bloodletting many a time before. Slowly he rose from his crouched position and simply watched as the creatures ate their fill of men and horse flesh.

When one of them finally noticed him it snarled, drawing back lips over bloodstained fangs, but did not charge. Rather it backed off, slinking off to one side. Alerted by the snarl, the other creatures looked at him as well. They too began to back off, skulking away to one side. All cleared a path between the Vampire and the massive one who led them.

The biggest Werewolf stared right at Vorador, its jaws locked firmly around the throat of a man in chainmail and with a fine fur cape over his shoulders. When it let go of the corpse, the golden crown that had been perched on his head tumbled away.

Bloodstained and smeared with gore, the beast rose up without ever breaking eye contact.

"I heard word of your presence from my pack at Valeholm." It said, pausing to spit out globs of flesh and bone from its mouth. Almost casually it kicked the body of the man it had killed aside and advanced, slung forward because its body was so top-heavy. "This is none of your concern, Vampire!" That came out as a low snarl. "Be gone and I'll forget you brought your aristocratic, rotting backside here!"

Vorador was neither intimidated nor impressed.

"Be civil, velutinous whelp." He replied flatly, ears flicked up so he would hear the slightest movement from the other Werewolves should they decide to charge, giving him that fleeting moment of warning that would be an advantage. "You would be the alpha male that I've heard so much about?" He asked then without taking his eyes from the big one. In response it swished its tail around behind itself and flicked congealed blood from its claws.

"I am Remus." It stated firmly and in response all the normal Werewolves around it lowered their legs to the ground. "My will is the will of the pack."

Vorador snorted contemptuously.

"What will drives you to this nonsense?" He demanded, casting a quick glance around at the scattered and decimated bodies of man and horse all around them. "You risk all of your bestial kind by such slaughter."

Remus looked down at the corpse of a cavalry man at his feet for a moment and then deliberately stepped on the head, bringing his full weight down upon the skull. After a moment of cracking it burst into fragments, globs of brain spilling over the snow. The display of strength and disregard of danger was ostentatious to Vorador's mind.

"My species is not as weak as yours, leech." He said with no little arrogance. "This is merely part of the strategy." He lowered his head and as his lips pulled back to reveal the fangs, Vorador knew that a charge would be ordered at any moment. "And your involvement is not requested and nor will it be tolerated."

The Vampire raised one eyebrow slightly.

"Perhaps I need to train you like the dog you are to not challenge your betters." He remarked. This was not just some throwaway insult but rather he wanted to goad them into making their inevitable attack on his terms, when he was ready for them.

Remus' eyes burned with anger for the jibe and the fur across his back began to bristle. Even the regular arctic Werewolves around him looked enraged at the provocation.

"You have a sharp month, blood sucker." The alpha male began in a voice that was more wolfish growl than speech. "Mine is sharper!" The tone he struck was clearly a command and his pack obeyed without question, launching forward one after the other to bear down on the Vampire.

Prepared for such an assault, Vorador altered the centre of balance of his body and began to turn in that lethal spin that made Havoc and Malice so deadly. Obviously those Werewolves that had assaulted Valeholm had not passed on the intelligence that once he had both axes in his hands, the Vampire would be a tremendous hazard. Several of Remus' pack met their end sliced to death by the blurring edges of the twin axes, their bodies discarded in bits of torn bloody fur in all directions.

The others quickly backed off but Remus himself charged in to quickly take their place. The alpha male was not only bigger and stronger than his kin but he was also more intelligent. He was not foolish enough to attack the lethally spinning spiral of axe blades head-on but instead ducked low and lashed out with a back paw. The kick knocked Vorador's feet out from under him and he was brought out of his spin in a moment, almost landing on his face in the snow. It was only his acrobatic skill that saved him, spinning his body around and back up before he could be set upon by the claws and fangs of the pack.

He was barely on his feet for a moment before Remus was on him, claws lashing out with such speed that the arm that delivered the blow blurred. Vorador grunted and backed off quickly but not quick enough to avoid the deep slash marks that had been opened across his chest. Blood oozed from the wound and down across his green skin.

This was most assuredly a bad situation, the Vampire was quick to realise. Remus was bigger, stronger, smarter and even faster than his fellows. To make matters worse the Vampire was still weakened by the burst of Serioli fire he had called up. But he had no time to make up another strategy. Remus was not alone, as the sudden galloping charge by the other Werewolves in the pack reminded him. They came at him from both the right and left at once.

Employing an evasion that Ansu had taught him, Vorador dodged backwards out of the range of snapping jaws and claws. His arms straining at the effort he brought Havoc and Malice up so sharply that the two nearest Werewolves had the underside of their ribcages collapsed under the blows. Blood welled forth from the injuries and Vorador acted on instinct.

He opened his mouth and telekinetically drew the blood from their injured bodies directly to his lips. Two swirling rivers of blood moved through the air and down his throat, giving him new strength and vitality. He drew it all out of them as quickly as he could, sucking their feral bodies dry in the space of a handful of moments.

The slashes on his chest healed, the flesh knitting back up and scabbing over and his spent energies were replenished. The two dried up husks of the creatures collapsed to the snow unmoving, chests gapping open like gutted poultry. Remus looked down at their bodies and snapped his head back up to Vorador. Utter rage was clear in his eyes at the action. As if unable to contain his anger he tilted his head and howled to the sky, the sound echoing like the clap of thunder. With that pure emotional outpouring he lunged at the Vampire with his massive arms spread wide.

With his energies restored Vorador found that he could indeed dodge the swipes that the alpha male left after him but only just, the claws passing a mere inch from his flesh. Unfortunately this did not provide much of an advantage because while he was able to avoid being sliced, he did not have the strength necessary to move Havoc and Malice fast enough to make a counter attack. They were just too heavy for this sort of a fight.

Remus made a lunge, snapping his jaw in a savage biting motion and Vorador sidestepped out of the way, using the moment to quickly sheathe the two axes across his back and in the same motion draw Marrow out from its scabbard at his side. The blade may have less impact than the axes but it was lighter and he could move this weapon far quicker.

When Remus attacked again, Vorador danced through his swipes and began retaliating with a few of his own. Marrow flickered back and forth like a falling autumn leaf, twisting left and right until finally its tip scraped alongside the alpha male's snout. It left a wide gash running from nose to eye socket, stopping just short of the Werewolf's right eye. Delivered such an injury, the alpha male took several steps backward and out of range. It was only a small wound, easily healed, but that it had come so close to blinding him had clearly startled the larger creature. Vorador took a moment to size up his own position. There were only four more Werewolves around them, easily dispatched if they decided to attack in aide of their alpha male. It was Remus who was the challenge.

"This is pointless, you cannot kill me." He declared with finality.

"Nor you kill me." Remus replied, wiping the blood that ran from his facial injury off on the back of one paw. Despite being shaken for the moment he had lost none of his arrogant confidence.

"All I desire is that you do not hamper me on my own endeavours in the east." Vorador pressed in an emotionless tone, implying that he left the means by which this was achieved up to Remus. The alpha male snorted in disgust.

"My strategy with these Humans is played out." He said. The Vampire gestured off with the tip of Marrow.

"Then take your puppies, run away back to your kennel and stay there." He said with finality. Remus stared him down for a long moment and then turned to look over at the corpses he had discarded, his gaze fixed on the now crownless body he had let drop before. He pressed his leathery lips together, concealing his teeth.

"You will live to regret this meddling, leech." He spat and then turned, galloping off into the trees so quickly he was there one moment and gone the next. Almost instantly the other Werewolves ran off after him, giving Vorador not so much as a backward glance before they too disappeared into the wilderness.

Vorador stood there in the clearing, surrounded by corpses and silent for a long moment. Then he let out his pent up breath in relief. That had been very close. He had seriously underestimated Remus, a being with reflexes and strength superior to his own and with a cunning mind to match. If the battle had continued much longer he would have risked serious injury or perhaps even death. Startling Remus into thinking better of pressing their contest had been the only way to escape the fight.

Undoubtedly they would meet again for another test of skill but next time, Vorador was not going to enter such a battle unless he was totally and utterly prepared for the struggle of his life.

He turned his head to glance over at the corpse Remus had dropped, its neck torn open and the life blood still warmly splashed upon the snow. The face meant nothing to him but its likeness to William and the crown that lay a short distance away meant it could only be one person.

-0-

**_"The king's body lay cleaved and carved before me, like a butchered hog." _**

-0-

William De'Sengir came to collect his father's body two days later, when his reinforcements managed to join up with the encamped forces of the Northern Kingdom main army. His reinforcements had been marched to near exhaustion through the snow to try and make it in time but they had still been too late.

The Werewolves had withdrawn once the king was dead and the generals had decided to cut their losses and hold down the fort until aid came. William himself had been seen to for the injuries he received in Valeholm, perhaps by a mage, for he moved without concern for injured ribs although he had a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

The king's body was brought to William on a bier made from locked together shields, as nothing else was at hand. The young man looked down at the body, his face a contorting mass of conflicting regret and anxiety and slowly knelt beside his sire's now cold body.

"Father..." He began and managed to keep his voice from being choked by sadness. "May the hands of Angels bring you before the eye of God." He said, reciting a brief prayer as he laid one bare hand on his father's chest. He paused for a long while with his eyes closed in a moment of private grief, oblivious to all the men standing around him and lost in earnest lamentation.

"Take the bodies of my family back home." He said to the retainers and warriors all standing around watching him. "Lay them to rest in the crypt beneath the colossus, titans that they are."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ser Barentein replied in a subdued voice and set to work ensuring that this order was carried out. With that change of address from 'Your Highness' to 'Your Majesty', the change in William's station was made more than clear.

The body of the former monarch was wrapped in a shroud and placed under the heavy guard of several cavalrymen. It would be taken back to Valeholm first and then the remains of all three slaughtered royalty would be returned home to be properly interred. The intended final resting place as the tomb for the royal family upon which recently construction had begun on a towering statue that many men were unimaginatively calling 'the colossus'.

The army watched the corpse being taken away in utter silence, no one saying a word while the procession was still in sight. When it finally disappeared behind the trees the whisperings began.

"The King is dead..." Someone began in a low, fearful voice.

"Then we're doomed." Another one put in, sunk in dejected pessimism. This seemed to be the general mood in the armed force gathered there, gloomy thoughts of mortality and failure spreading like an insidious virus.

"We should never have come to this godforsaken land." Someone else said a little more loudly this time and a depressed rumble of agreement went through the gathered soldiers.

At once William snapped around, his expression changed from anxiety to a rage so powerful that those in his immediate line of sight flinched back.

"You will never again utter such tripe in my presence!" He shouted, eyes fixing on the now very sheepish axe man who had aroused his ire. "Never again, do you understand me!?" He didn't wait for the soldier to reply but strode past him, vaulting to the top of an outcropping of rock in two bounds. From the top of that rock he could be seen by most of the army and his outburst had gotten their attention.

"Aye, the King is dead." He declared in a shout, amplifying his voice so that as many soldiers as possible could hear him. Those that could not hear him would have his words relayed by those up front. "But his death has birthed in his successor a fire of vengeance so powerful that it will crash over the guilty like a rising inferno!" He clenched a fist and waved it up towards the walls of Weirstein above on the cliff heights.

"Do you not see?" William demanded of them. "I have had reports already that our enemies and the tyrants of this land, the Dogma, use such feral beasts as their war hounds!" He shouted the words so loudly it was as if he was almost beside himself with rage. "It was they who sent these bestial assassins! It was they who murdered our beloved sovereign, my father and brothers!"

Another low murmur began amongst the soldiers, this time with an angry undertone. Many black looks were cast up at the settlement above.

"Do you turn your backs and run home to your mothers, like scolded children?" William asked them in his bellow. He pointed imperiously at the nearest soldier, carrying a sword. "Or will you pick up your swords?" He turned to point back towards some archers. "Pick up your axes and bows?" Swiftly he turned again to point at the cavalry. "Pick up your pikes and lances?" Turning around in a circle he cast his gaze upon them all. "Will you brace your shields and mount your horse?"

His words began an excited stir in the soldiers and backs straightened, weapons were held up higher and the looks of depressed gloom began to fade like a receding tide from nearly every face.

"Will you do all this-" William began and thumped his fist to his breastplate. His gauntlet clanged against the metal armour. "-and follow me!?"

The cry of support was almost deafening. Thousands of swords, axes and bows were thrust into the air all at once to accompany the bellows of enthusiasm from the now riled army. William surveyed them all and nodded once in confirmation.

"Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!" He shouted and they roared again in total agreement. From behind William, Ser Barentein was slowly approaching. In his hands, he held out before him the discarded crown. Deliberately he marched up to the top of the rock where William stood. The prince, who seemed to have noticed him coming without turning around to see him, knelt down onto one knee in the age old tradition.

"The King is dead!" Barentein shouted. He had pushed up the visor on his helmet enough to leave his mouth exposed for the shout, revealing that he had a short black beard. With formal ceremony he placed upon William's head the crown of the Northern Kingdom. It was a practical ornament, devoid of elaborate decorations favoured by other heads of state. It was a single band of gold with a coating of silver on its top and bottom. A single blue sapphire was set in the centre just over the forehead. "Long live the King!"

As William rose back up to his feet, Ser Barentein turned and gestured out at the soldiers.

"All hail King William the First!" He prompted and the cry was taken up by the army in a recurring chant.

Up on the side of the valley cliffs, out of sight but still able to see all, Vorador folded his arms with an expression of frowning disapproval on his face.

-0-

**_"A truly excellent speech, tailor made to appeal to the simple minds of such plebeian, nationalistic soldiers. Caught up in their national enthusiasm and male pride, I am sure none of them noticed that for a supposed spontaneous public declaration, William's words had been intently rehearsed." _**

-0-


	14. 13 Path not chosen

William's army was quick to begin its siege of Weirstein, surrounding the settlement on all sides and blocking many of the region's gullies and canyons. Shut off from support and supply, Weirstein would eventually be starved into surrender. But whether it fell or stood, Vorador cared little.

Inside the city he prowled, slipping from shadow to shadow like some ephemeral ghost. It had been quite easy to simply fly over the walls in the form of a raven. No one had suspected him of being anything other than a filthy carrion bird and now he was inside, keeping himself to the darkness and well out of sight.

He supposed that he could use his current position to open the gates and deliver the town to William De'Segnir on a platter. But he had no reason to do so. The newly crowned king was polite enough, for a Human, but Vorador was not so foolish as to let himself become involved in the politics of Man.

In point of fact, he was not even sure why he had chosen to infiltrate Weirstein at all. There was nothing of material benefit to him here and only the weirdest sense of compulsive nostalgia had brought him to this place at all. He had discarded such pining for a forgotten history as foolishness and of no consequence. Yet it still had some power over him, enough to have forced him to venture into the city.

He reasoned that perhaps if he saw for himself what there was to see, that would silence the ghost of his forgotten mortal life once and for all, put it all to rest and allow him to move on with more important matters. He disliked justifying the trip even then, annoyed that the mental weakness had compelled him thus.

Weirstein's streets were all narrow and straight but ran in a spiral towards the central plaza where a square tower stood high above the other buildings. Most of the settlement was made of grey stone with no windows at all, the roofs of matching grey slate. A thick forest of chimneys grew out of the rooftops, showing that illumination for their interiors came from hearths within. The thick snow was piled up in the narrow alleys, leaving the streets mostly clear to the square, pale red paving stones beneath.

The Eastern soldiers he had observed earlier heavily patrolled the streets, and the populace was certainly not welcoming to their presence. Doors were all shut and locked up tight and hardly any sound at all came from the buildings, the only sounds being the thud of boots on stone as the occupying men made their patrols – watching over the stout walls of the settlement down at the army encircling them. Down below, clearly visible from the walls, the campfires of the besieging army flickered in the dark of the night.

Occasionally the soldiers would come to the door of a house and bang on it with a fist, demanding to be let in. More often than not, the door was immediately opened but if not, the soldiers simply knocked the door down. They took from the people of this settlement whatever they wanted, whether it was more food, extra clothing against the cold of the night, more kindling for fires, bottles of various alcoholic beverages or, if the mood took them, women were taken back to their garrison for enjoyment of another kind. Anyone who tried to prevent these excessive requisitions was lucky if the soldiers merely beat them to a bloody pulp.

There were perhaps only a thousand men defending Weirstein but with such a vantage point, the walls high and thick, they could hold the settlement for some time. Perhaps it was their desperate situation, surrounded by an overwhelming force, which drove them to be so cruel and oppressive. But given the frightened and cowed looks on the faces of the people they abused, it seemed more likely they had been at this for quite some time.

Vorador left the bullies unmolested for now. He had neither present need for blood, nor any need to play the hero and the disappearance of one or more of their number would immediately be noticed. Once more, he firmly reminded himself the affairs of Humans were not his.

Instead, Vorador turned his immediate attention to obtaining a replacement shirt. His original had been completely shredded by repeated battle with the arctic Werewolves and had had to be discarded. While he could quite practically function without such a garment, Vorador did not really feel inclined to be bare-chested. It was too much like Kain's current style and perhaps it was petty of him, but he was loath to follow Kain's example in anything.

Obtaining new clothes was quite easy. Even in the East, where a different culture presided, there were still shops of all kinds: bakers, butchers, tanners and clothiers. The soldiers had taken what they wanted and had left a simple clothier alone. Vorador was easily able to flip the lock open with the merest use of telekinesis and slip inside, carefully relocking the door after him. This way he could take his time to obtain a new garment without fear of being disturbed.

Another locked door barred the stairs leading up to the living quarters above the shop itself. Vorador could sense several people above, perhaps the owner of the shop and his family. He would not bother himself with them. Given Weirstein's precarious state it was unlikely they would venture down even if they did hear a noise.

The shop itself was quite plain. The floor was made of the same grey slate as the rooftops, swept and kept free of dust and grime. The ceiling was held up by preserved wooden beam supports, well varnished to keep the cold and damp from rotting it away. The clothes that were on sale were preserved inside wooden chests on stone shelves, wrapped in leather to keep them from being exposed to the wetter climate.

In the cold grip of winter, especially along this icy northern coast, warm garments were utterly essential. As such, a lot of the clothing Vorador found within these boxes was made of wool or padded leather, insulated but also waterproof to keep out the damp. As a Vampire, Vorador had a greater tolerance to extreme temperatures than other beings but decided that perhaps he ought to invest in such garments anyway to keep himself from being slowed down. It could make all the difference if the fights he had endured so far were any indication of his future prospects.

As such, the shirt he took was woven from fine cashmere wool and stretched quite easily to fit over his chest. Over this, he took for himself a darkened leather jerkin, padded with sheep's wool across the shoulders and back. It was rather surprising to find one in his size. He considered taking a fur cowl with which he might hide his inhuman facial features, but then looked down at his tridactyl hands. Such an attempt at concealment would be a painfully wasted effort.

Instead, he found inside another box a pair of padded, reinforced leather bracers, thick gloves up to the elbow with holes for the fingers. They were more like light armour intended for scouts than actual gloves. Vorador usually did not put stock in armour of any sort. It was an encumbrance and more often than not slowed the wearer down. However, he recalled quite painfully how deep into flesh the claws of the Werewolves could sink. In battle with them, he could not afford to have his arms exposed. Of course, they had to be adapted to fit the shape of his hands with their talons but that was no difficult chore.

With his new garments in place, Vorador paused for just a moment to check himself over. The plain clothes were quite the step down from the robes he had so often worn before, but these were far more practical to the journey he now undertook. Satisfied with the additions to his wardrobe he quietly left the shop, leaving the clothier to discover that he had been robbed in the morning.

Most of Weirstein was built onto the edge of the bluff and was relatively modern in construction, but there was an older part of the settlement that seemed to be made out of the looming cliff itself. These were natural fissures and caves, widened out with their entrances bricked up to make crude shelters.

In this era, these hovels were used as supply or animal storage, with the occasional vagabond hiding out in them. They ran up a natural crevice in the rock towards the top of the cliff, a Human rabbit warren. The guards did not come here. They could not be bothered with patrolling the crags and its meagre collection of goats, sheep and the homeless.

As the old Vampire surveyed these rugged slums, perched in the shadows atop a stone precipice that jutted out from the side of the cliff, he seemed to see everything in strange double vision. All at once, he saw this place as it was now and how it had once been. This remembrance of the past did not come easy but the more he stared the stronger it became. Some Human memories, buried deep down by his overriding Vampiric existence, leaked through steadily. He could almost take in the long gone smells of cooking fires, drying animal skins and the copper tang of early metalworking. Sounds came less easily to mind, only faint slurred voices spoken by people long since dead. The memories of faces were almost gone entirely, some clearer than others but all blurred like an old oil painting.

It was to here, these caves of tribal age Man, Vorador had found himself drawn most of all, almost bypassing the modern settlement entirely. This was why he had made the trip here. This was the oldest part of Weirstein and, he supposed, the original settlement that had existed when he had been Human.

Perhaps he had lived in a cave near the bottom of the crag, or perhaps further up? He could not be sure, the memories that came back were not that clear.

But there was one thing that was and it stabbed uncomfortably in the back of his head. His gaze wandered up to the top of the cliff. Sure enough, as his nagging mind had told him, it was there: a large cave with a perfectly smooth circular entrance. In the dark of the night it was almost hidden in the shadows. It was as forgotten a cave as the rest of these ancient shelters but showed signs that it had once been preserved with the utmost care.

He ascended to it swiftly and silently, his feet making no sound on the rocks. Soon he stood before the cave at the apex of the short ravine and paused to simply stare at it. There was no reason to go inside; it was only a few feet wide and high. It was perfectly round like the inside of an egg. This was no simple cave used for shelter or storage. The walls were covered in faded, crude drawings and paintings. These images showed animals that were to be hunted in the region, such as elk and deer, as well as an odd, lumbering animal that seemed like an elephant that Vorador had once seen; a creature native to the southern lands. This animal seemed larger and was covered in thick brown hair.

Other images depicted events in the life of the primeval settlement: successful hunting trips, important marriages between neighbouring tribes and representations of one or more rituals to appease some spiritual entity. Vorador could not remember exactly what these people worshipped but the images depicted it fancifully as a snake in the sky.

A dull, empty pit was in the direct centre of the space where once a ceremonial fire had burned. In primitive societies, these fires would be used as places of worship, minerals of various kinds cast into the flames to produce gaseous effects to awe the spectators. This cave had clearly been used with a cultural or religious intention.

-0-

**_"Here at last was the last remnant of my Human life, the crude remains of some primitive shaman's shrine."_**

-0-

Vorador stared at the setting for a long time, simply letting the memories it evoked come in and out of his awareness without challenge. The images were becoming clear now, focusing as if through some corrective lens into sharp clarity. Some details were gone, lost in the flow of time but he remembered this place although seen from the different point of view of a young Human boy.

In such an ancient time, before the formation of the feudalism that dominated Nosgoth in this era, men had lived in close-knit tribes and clans. These small communities had been watched over, or outright dominated, by shaman seers. These supposed wise men interpreted dreams and other signs from the heavens to tell the people whatever their culture's spirits, gods or personified ancestors wanted of them. For some reason this usually turned out to be actions that benefited the shaman personally.

Scepticism of their claims was never allowed, let alone encouraged. The worst punishment for a man in those days was to be cast out of his tribe. On his own he had little to no chance at survival, so a shaman caught lying to his tribe was in serious danger. As such, they would brand any scepticism of their words as an affront to their patron entity, be it god or spirit. Men were intelligent in their own way but also too easily swayed by superstition.

-0-

**_"It was here, as a young boy, I had been taken. It was here I had been pronounced acceptable as the young replacement for the tribe's elderly mystic. But in order to become such a candidate I would have to endure the loss of my manhood."_**

-0-

That was not overly surprising to recollect. Shaman and tribal mystics were always prone to primitive mutilating rituals of one form or another. Such markings set them apart from ordinary men, putting them above them with a clear sign of favour from the gods. It would seem that in the tribe in which he had lived, only eunuchs were permitted to be shaman.

He could remember being brought up here by some male family member. Was it his father, a brother or an uncle? Impossible to remember. The current mystic to survey him had been an old man, eyes nearly white with cataracts and withered with age. Clearly nearing the end of his life, he had been looking for a successor. After a lengthy examination, the old shaman had decreed that the young Vorador had been acceptable.

Then, he had been told in very blunt terms that he was going to lose his genitalia in the initiation ritual and that the 'surgery' would take place the following morning at dawn. In such a primitive culture, the chance to be elevated to a position of authority would perhaps be worth the price to such people living in a hand to mouth existence.

Vorador had not been of that opinion.

-0-

**_"Even at such a young and pliable age I was unwilling to endure such mutilation. I ran from this place and never looked back."_**

-0-

Now he remembered what had driven him from this place, why he had come so far away. Fear and horror at the idea of what they were going to do to him. He had crept from his family's cave in the middle of the night, descended the cliffs to the ravines below and fled into the wilderness.

He had run for days, purely fuelled by the fear of a fate that disturbed him even in his adolescent mind. He did not know if his Human family looked for him, or even cared that he had run away. Perhaps they had merely selected another of his family to fulfil the role and not given him a second thought. He had no way of knowing.

Nor did he really care to know.

The memories of his Human life began to quickly lose their appeal and compulsive edge. Everything now seemed duller, more grey and empty and Vorador blinked away the rose tinted impression his mind had tried to give him. His face began to crease into a disgusted sneer. This place suddenly offended him immensely.

-0-

**_"Rediscovering my past had left me feeling soured. This was no legacy to be remembered and cherished. It was a squalid, barbaric culture, relegated to the garbage pile of history and best forgotten."_**

-0-

Sharply he turned away, a far more symbolic gesture than he intended, banishing the memory of this place from his mind. Now he was just angry that this rotting excuse for a past had drawn him so far from his own journey. He ought to have been stronger than this.

-0-

**_"My future is what matters, not my past."_**

-0-

The image of Umah's face, her affirmation and acceptance of him as her father, came into his mind unbidden and her appearance seemed to strengthen his resolve. She, along with Janos, had been his true family. Not related by blood certainly but still bound together over the centuries with ties that were far greater than a mere accident of birth.

Suddenly this place had no hold on him whatsoever. It was just some ruins of a long dead and forgotten culture and faintly he wondered what he was even doing here. He had work to do, a Lost City to find and an elusive Arrow to recover. When all that was done, then he would make sure that the Seer kept her word and assured Umah's resurrection. It would be best if he got on with the truly important things and left this place to whatever small, irrelevant fate awaited it.

He was about to change form into the raven once more and take flight when suddenly there was a pale dot of white luminescence from the more modern settlement just below. The flare caught his eye and he turned to look down. There it was, right on top of the central square tower. As he watched it, he could sense the energy radiating from it. He knew instantly what it was.

When a being translocated itself from one place to another, often it was in the form of a shimmering of light that came when distance between two distant locations was ripped open. The sensation of power from that spot and the light itself was clearly recognisable. Someone with considerable magical power had arrived there.

Vorador frowned as the light died away. There was someone standing on the tower but it was too dark and far away for him to make out whom it was. But it did not bode well. Very few with magic could master translocation, especially in this era.

For a moment he paused, considering what he should do. It might be the course of prudence to simply fly away and leave whoever this was to their business. However, there was also something to be said for investigating and discovering who had come before they became a potential hindrance. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.

He weighed the options for a moment. Then, with the swiftness of the decision, he began to leap from stone to stone down the side of the cliff towards the tower. He had decided to at least find out who was there. Simply remaining ignorant of potential dangers because it was more convenient was the epitome of stupidity.

Gaining the rooftops of Weirstein was easily done. Shifting to the form of the spider, Vorador scaled the cold stone walls easily and scuttled across. Even in such an enlarged form, the insect body was silent and quick. None of the guards even looked up as he slunk from rooftop to rooftop towards the tower.

As he approached the tower, there was another sudden eruption of light. Vorador knew it instantly to be another translocation spell. There was now someone else there in addition to the first arrival and that made it all the more imperative that he learn who they were and what they were doing here. Powerful mages able to translocate rarely meet for a simple cordial chat and social interaction.

The occupying guards around Weirstein had not noticed the flare of light that signalled the arrival of users of magic, too occupied with watching the campfires of William's army below. But, however dim they might be, they would certainly notice a spider the size of a pony climbing the outside of the tower. Vorador tried to keep himself hidden from their sight as best he might but soon it became necessary for him to squeeze his insect body in through a window he came across before he was spotted.

Most of the tower was empty, the guards preferring to stay down on the lower levels where they had a cooking fire to keep them warm. The rest of the tower was left dark and frigid. Shifting back to his regular form, Vorador paused and listened intently.

Just above him, he could hear voices speaking.

"And just why did you feel it necessary to set our meeting in this frozen land in the middle of the night?" A very familiar voice asked in annoyed tartness. Vorador frowned at the sound of it. What was he doing here?

"The view, mostly." A second voice replied. "You can see all the way to the static locked ice of the pole from here on a cloudless day." Then the voice chuckled. "But also because I like causing you discomfort." It added mockingly. "It gives me a warm little glow to see you out in the cold without your mittens."

The voice was breathy and harsh, as if the speaker couldn't quite catch his breath and rasped hoarsely. Vorador began to edge silently towards the stairs that led up.

"In other words, you wanted me irritated and distracted when we met?" The first speaker snapped back.

"Shrewd, very shrewd." The second replied in that same mocking tone. "But I'm sure you just picked that information out of my head." There was a pause. "So I'm sure you know what I intend to say to your question."

The top of the tower was not quite as flat and featureless as it had appeared from a distance. Repair work was being undertaken across one side of it and scaffolding was erected across its width. When Vorador tried to look, coming up onto the roof he could not see the two he knew were here at first.

"So the answer is no?" The first speaker asked. Vorador turned to where the voice was coming from, making out two shapes standing on the far side of the tower's roof, partly hidden by the scaffolding. Quickly and silently, he moved towards the source, keeping himself in the shadows and listening with his ears pricked forward.

"It was no when you asked me before." The second voice replied and this time it was decidedly unfriendly. "It's still no, now." Vorador came up to the scaffolding and paused. "And it'll continue to be no when you ask later." He could make out the figures now a little more clearly. One was tall, wearing a wide cloak and the other was stouter and wrapped in furs of some sort.

"I don't think you appreciate..." The taller figure began again with resentment clearly being suppressed.

"You made your predicament quite plain." The shorter said, cutting him off. By now Vorador was moving around the scaffolding, keeping himself out of sight but putting himself into a position where he could make them out. As he did so, the smaller figure raised a finger and waved it angrily in the other's face.

"It's your mess, Nupraptor. Quit trying to shift the burden of responsibility for it." Vorador frowned, looking the two men. He had recognised the voice of the taller. It was indeed the Mentalist Nupraptor, wrapped in a woollen blue cloak. His enlarged head still emitted that alien green glow from within the skull. He was glaring with barely concealed animosity at the other man, so distracted that he did not even sense with his supposed vast mental powers that Vorador was less than twenty feet away from him.

This other one Vorador did not recognise. He was short but also wide shouldered; body well developed and heavily muscled across his back and exposed chest. He had long tangled black hair and a beard, the ends of the moustache braided together belong his chin in a very elaborate style. His eyes were a bright green, standing out even from under the matted bangs of hair that hung down over his face.

What set the man apart was his garb. He wore furs, wrapped tightly around his legs and midsection and more loosely over his chest, which despite the cold was only kept warm by a vest. A long fur cape ran from his shoulders to hang behind his calves, the garment clearly made from stitched together fox hide. Stranger still was his headdress, a full deer's head converted to a hood with the antlers still rising up high. It had been preserved well and seemed almost still alive. What truly made the attire stand out was that all the creatures from which the fur had come must have been albinos, for it was leached of all colour and white as snow.

In the man's right hand was a staff made from a twisted stick, knotted but straight like a pole. Tied to it in various places were other smaller furs and even a few feathers. It ended in small root-like limbs curling around a pearl-like object that caught the light of the campfires below Weirstein, even at this distance.

"You fouled up your own experiment. So go fix it." He was saying with contempt, rudely jabbing Nupraptor in the chest with the finger of one meaty hand.

"I can't, you self-righteous fool!" The Mentalist snapped finally, slapping his hand away. His eyes were wide with anger and somehow the green pulsing glow from within his cranium seemed to grow brighter. "You think I would be asking for help if I could deal with the situation by myself?!" He gestured vaguely off towards the south with one arm. "If this process is not stopped, it could have wide ranging repercussions..."

The man in white furs laughed; the sound more like the nasal bark of some small dog and shook his head.

"Don't spew that dribble at me, Mentalist!" He advised Nupraptor with a wide grin, showing off his teeth. He raised his staff and tipped it back so it rested over one shoulder. "The only thing you care about is not getting scolded by Mortanius for causing such a calamity!"

Nupraptor paused pointedly, regarding the man with a sudden cooling of his temper. His frustration seemingly spent in the one outburst, he was now coldly annoyed.

"Unlike some of us...Druid." He began with heavy contempt, turning the title into a remark of derision. "I actually think about my obligations to Nosgoth, the trust that was given to us to serve the Pillars and the land they protect." He folded his arms into the sleeves of his robe over his chest. "While you dabble in nonsense and project your own faults onto others."

Vorador's expression tightened into a scowl at the use of the word 'Druid'. There could be no mistaking the identity of the man in the white furs now. Druids and other shaman had once been common in Nosgoth during the tribal age, but they were all gone now. In this era, there was only one Druid.

-0-

**_"Now I recognised him. Bane the Druid, Guardian of the Pillar of Nature. A cantankerous sort, Bane had often dwelt in the wilderness, scornfully refraining from residing in the civilised world. When the madness and corruption set in, Bane would join his magics with those of Anarcrothe the Alchemist and the Energist DeJoule to create an expanding dome of unspeakable perversion, Dark Eden. His murder at the hands of Kain would halt that spreading abomination."_**

-0-

Those corrupting events had yet to occur, an incident some eighty years still in the future. Here, Bane was in full command of his reason and power. Control of the elements of nature was not a skill to be underestimated and now Vorador was glad he had stopped to see who had come to this unusual discussion.

He had not seen the Guardian of the Pillar of Nature this close before, had not cared to either, indifferent to whichever Human was chosen by the Pillars in the absence of the legitimate governing species. The Druid's manner seemed ill-suited to his role, his personality colloquial and earthy, his commoner phrases and speech disguised by a wide vocabulary. However, there radiated from him an undeniable sense of confidence. He was well-experienced with his power and boldly assured in his control.

Despite this Vorador knew him, along with every other Human Guardian, to be nothing more than a pretender. Their species had never been intended to be Guardians, the energies and bonding between Guardian and Pillar too complex for Human biology, mentality and even spirit to competently administer. Every moment that Humanity governed the Circle of Nine, the binding holding the Hylden in their prison rotted further. Eventually it would fail altogether, allowing the Hylden to migrate from the Demon Realm and resettle in Nosgoth, albeit in the far apocalyptic future.

"Take your condescending accusation and insert it forcibly up your rectum." Bane spat with scorn, once more his commonplace curse disguised by fancy words. "I know better than to get involved in this nonsense." He half turned as if he were about to leave.

"And what nonsense do you find more appealing?" Nupraptor asked him tartly. "The training of your dogs must be tiresome."

Bane stiffened and turned his head sharply to glare back at the Mentalist over his shoulder.

"They're not MY dogs." The Druid said flatly. The Mentalist kept his gaze fixed on him.

"They seem to flock to you like lambs to a shepherd." He remarked. Bane barked his laugh again and lowered his staff.

"Not really." He disagreed with an ironic wistful grin. "You can eat lambs." His gaze turned to regard the horizon, an expression of displeasure creasing his face. "I keep them around because they're useful, not for the questionable pleasure of their rabid company." After a silent moment he grunted and turned back. "And yours is no more pleasing to me." He straightened and his words were rigid and final. "Now I've given you my answer, Nupraptor." The Druid began to turn away once more, his tone dismissive. "Take your high and mighty airs and be gone. I'll not lift a finger to deal with the mess you've made."

It was then that Vorador decided to show himself.


	15. 14 Nupraptor's Folly

He came out from his concealment quite openly, moving from the shadows deliberately into the light cast by the cooking fires below. He made no attempt to conceal his approach or even limit the noise he made while doing so. Either hearing him or sensing him finally, both Guardians turned to face him even before he started talking.

"Can it really be so?" He began in as jovial a tone as possible. His posture was relaxed, even friendly, and his smile was wistful. But he kept his eyes on both of them, ready to sense the slightest movement that would be a prelude to violence. "Do the Circle members consider only their own well-being and profit?" The Vampire looked back and forth between the two of them as if considering. "Are they not protectors of the land? Guardians of the aspects with which their Pillars are aligned?" He then smiled rather mockingly at them both, eyes alight with pleasurable malice. "Or have I been grossly misinformed?"

Nupraptor's eyes widened and his face tightened into a grimace, not so much in surprise but rather in chagrin that his own mental powers had failed to detect him coming. As Vorador had suspected, Bane's irascible denunciation had so irritated him that he had been distracted from all else.

"Vorador!" The Mentalist burst out before he tightly shut his lips, trying to cover his confusion and annoyance with forced calm. The consternation on his face was a delight to behold and Vorador savoured the sight of it. Though it was perhaps somewhat petty of him. He had no real quarrel with Nupraptor specifically, but he had always disliked the Human Pillar Guardians.

The Druid's reaction was much more pedestrian. The man took one look at Vorador, seeing in one glance the unmistakable and unfortunately famous features and swung back, spinning faster than his encumbering fur robes should allow. Both hands grasped the wooden staff out before him, its pearl end pulsing with a sudden inner light. All around the stone floated phantom images of various animals of the forest: prancing deer, snarling wolves and even a lumbering bear. The images formed quickly and spread out, creating a barricade of ghostly fauna. Vorador stood there calmly, completely unmoved by the display. The images, despite how lifelike Bane could make them, were only illusion.

"Keep your distance, unclean thing!" The Druid snapped, tensing, clearly ready to spring at even the slightest hint of impending violence. Vorador regarded him coolly for a long moment, one eyebrow raised. Then quite deliberately, he turned to face the Mentalist, speaking to him in calm, measured tones as if this were nothing more significant than a casual conversation.

"I know why I am here, Nupraptor." The Vampire began with something of a suspicious note in his voice for Nupraptor's eyes narrowed in resentment. "Yet why have you decided to make the journey this far east?" He kept his gaze steady, waiting for the answer.

The Guardian of Mind by now had managed to regain his composure. Vorador could almost feel the man's enhanced telepathic powers reaching out to attempt to read his mind, but his own defences were quite formidable. The Mentalist could not easily penetrate those mental barriers.

"That is my own concern." He remarked flatly. "Where I go and what I do are my business and no one else's. I do not need to explain myself."

Bane looked over at his fellow Guardian sharply, incredulity written clearly across his face.

"You converse with this thing?!" He demanded in outrage, a tic in one cheek making his face twitch in his clear distress. Keeping one hand tight around his staff, he pointed at Vorador as if he were some sort of sick animal. "This...this Vampire... killed six members of the Circle!"

Vorador rolled his eyes. His massacre of the Circle for their support of the Sarafan crusade and the murder of Janos Audron had not been something he had planned out in great detail. It had been a reactionary attack, prompted by his anger in learning of the death of his sire. He had promptly stormed their stronghold on his own. Finding six members of the Circle surveying the butchery they sponsored, he had killed them in many painful ways. He had flayed them, stabbed them, burned them, ripped their veins and arties from their quivering flesh and feasted deeply on their sundered blood. Then he had humiliated their supposed protector, Malek the Paladin, leaving him beaten and battered and subject to the consequences of his failure. Accomplishing all this certainly did give him prestige but it also made peacefully approaching others more difficult than it had to be.

"We ought to bring it down, now!" Bane was saying intently to Nupraptor, urging the Mentalist to action with him. Vorador frowned at the man's constant use of the word 'It'.

"Just the two of us?" Nupraptor asked, giving his peer a sceptical glance. He glanced from Bane, to Vorador and back again several times. "The killer of six Guardians, in battle with two?" He gave the Druid a silent, disapproving look. "I knew you were eccentric, Bane, but not stupid." Then he shrugged in apparent disinterest and unconcern. "But if you wish to avenge our unlamented predecessors then by all means, go right ahead."

Vorador smiled, purposely showing off his fangs to the alarmed Guardian of Nature.

"Yes...by all means." He said with something of an ominous invitation in his voice, daring the Druid to try anything of the sort. Bane glared at him, going scarlet with anger under his beard. Sharply he looked away from Vorador back to Nupraptor.

"Perhaps I ought to let Mortanius know about this little lapse of the duty you so like to tout?" He asked angrily.

"Tattletale." Nupraptor replied simply.

"Enough!" Vorador interrupted them before they could get back into their asinine argument, gesturing for them to be silent with a wave of his hand. Surprisingly, despite their lofty titles and positions, both Guardians did just that. They stood there staring at him. Vorador held their gaze for a long moment, letting them sense that he would not simply be ignored.

"Druid. I seek information." He began then, looking at Bane with an icy glare. "Tell me what I want to know and I'll be gone." The Druid straightened in defiance, face set with a stubborn determination that in any other circumstance would be a laudable trait, but Vorador simply found it irritating.

"I see no reason why I should tell a Vampire anything." He replied tartly. "Other than to crawl back under whatever rotten cesspool it came from."

"The insult was not intimidating from Sarafan knights and it is hardly so from you." Vorador snapped. "You will tell me what I desire to know, immediately." It was not a threat. No vague lethal consequences were implied. He was merely stating fact. Bane twisted in resentment and took a small step back. Vorador took one forward.

"I seek the Celestial Arrow and the LostCity." He said. "Where might I find them?"

At this, the Druid paused in his retreat. His head snapped up and he stared at Vorador as if he had suddenly transformed into something more monstrous than anything spawned in the demon realm. His lips tightened and his eyes widened in utter dismay. That lasted only a moment before his anger returned. With a snarl he whirled, ignoring Vorador completely and turning on Nupraptor.

"What is this?!" He demanded, so outraged that he almost had difficulty forming the words. His grip on his staff was so strong his knuckles had turned white. "Nupraptor, is this some sick joke?!" The Mentalist stared back, blinking rapidly, an expression of incomprehension on his face. Bane was having none of it. He strode right up to his peer and grabbed him by the front of his blue robes, pulling him close. Nupraptor was so startled by the man's rage that he did not struggle, his arms out wide.

"You ask me about my own work and then this Vampire turns up demanding the details!?" Bane was livid, his eyes alive with an inner raging fire. The pearl at the end of his staff was flaring once more with light, the images of animals coming so rapidly now it was impossible to tell what was being depicted from one moment to the next. Vorador was quick to take notice. Bane's control over his powers was diminished when he became angry.

"Bane, I don't know what you're talking about." Nupraptor tried to say but the Guardian of Nature cut him short, nearly yanking him down off his feet. The Druid was definitely the stronger of the two physically.

"I am not a fool!" He spat. Then his expression turned wary, guarded and anxious. He let go of Nupraptor and took a quick step away. "This is a conspiracy!" He accused in a now raspy voice, the paranoia in his tone unmistakeable. He glanced between them, backing off. "Who else have you gotten in to ruin my work, Mentalist?!" He demanded of the still surprised Guardian of Mind. "DeJoule? Moebius?" His eyes widened. "Does Ariel herself sanction this?!"

When the clearly startled Nupraptor did not immediately reply, the Druid brandished his staff forward as if he intended to use it as a crude cudgel. Snarling with suspicious anger, he waved it forth.

"It's my research! Mine!" Vorador watched him, left taken aback somewhat by his now almost childish temperament. The Druid held up his free hand, arching his fingers. A small point of light appeared in the midst of the curving fingers. "I'll not be ousted by you! Any of you!"

Before Vorador could do anything to prevent it, Bane unleashed his spell. The Druid's body was engulfed in the midst of a translocation and he vanished into the mist of light, moving across space to whatever his distant destination might be. The light from the spell wasn't noticed at all by the men at the base of the tower, their eyes kept on either their own fires or the encampment outside their walls.

Silence endured for several startled moments, broken only by the crackling of the cooking fires below, before Nupraptor cleared his throat and adjusted the robes that Bane had creased.

"I'm sure he meant that in the best possible way." He quipped somewhat weakly. Vorador suppressed a very palpable urge to growl. To help relieve his irritation he clenched his fists tight and did not look at the Mentalist, staring off towards the dark horizon.

"Save your speeches." He told him flatly, not at all willing to banter pleasantries now. Bane's reaction to the query had been unexpected but also very telling. He frowned, going over the Druid's rant a second time while it was fresh in his memory. Just what research had he been talking about and why had he reacted so at the mention of the Lost City?

"It would seem Bane is the one with the information I seek." He eventually said. Nupraptor grunted and seemed annoyed himself.

"So it would appear given that paranoid reaction." The Mentalist replied, frowning with the inner green glow from his cranium fluctuating.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" Vorador demanded, turning his head to fix the Guardian of Mind with a steady glare of dislike.

"I didn't know." Nupraptor said simply with a shrug. "I was certain no one member of the Circle knew anything more about the Lost City than I did." He paused then and looked back, seeing that Vorador had not changed his distrustful and suspicious expression.

"Oh, come now." He said in a partly disgusted voice. "Not everything is a game of deception." Vorador kept his unfriendly look static.

"It is in Nosgoth." He stated coldly. Nupraptor grunted in dismissive irritation and turned his head.

"Believe whatever you wish, but you waste time with me." He said and gestured off vaguely towards the dark horizon. "Surely now you will wish to hunt down the Druid?"

Vorador kept his gaze steadily on the Mentalist.

"Are you reading my intentions from my mind?" He asked with bitterness and realised it sounded a little petty even as it left his mouth.

"No, it's called logic." Nupraptor replied glibly without looking around. There was a long moment of silence between them and neither one of them made a move. The pause lengthened painfully. Finally, Nupraptor looked up and said; "Bane conducts his experiments from the safety of his grove, an isolated area sealed by his magical control of natural elements."

Vorador held his gaze for another lengthy pause, his expression unchanged. He was not so foolish as to simply take this offered bit of information at face value. Nupraptor had no obvious reason for betraying the location of his peer to a Vampire, much less one so famed for Guardian slaughter. Clearly, he wanted something accomplished and giving him this information was just a means of doing so. Only what was the intended outcome? Did he think he would kill Bane and thus the Mentalist would have vengeance for being so rejected? No, Vorador supposed. Nupraptor seemed more level-headed than that and revenge would not be a practical use of time and resources in his eyes.

Whatever the Mentalist's intentions were, though, finding Bane and getting the information he needed out of the Druid was now an absolute priority. But he resolved to be wary of any situation that seemed in the least bit suspicious.

"And where is the entrance to this grove?" He asked then. Nupraptor grunted and shrugged one shoulder, resettling his robe over himself.

"That I do not know." He admitted but before Vorador could say anything in reply, he added; "But the white Werewolves have an arrangement of some nature with Bane. They will know where to find his lair."

The Vampire paused to digest that. He had noted the erratic behaviour of the Werewolves in their siege of Valeholm and attack on the now dead king, William's father. Their supposed leader, the alpha male who called himself Remus, had claimed there was some strategy behind their actions. At the time, Vorador had thought it a bluff to hide military ignorance and a feral perception. But if Bane truly did have some alliance with them then that fact lent more credence to Remus' boast. It also had far-reaching implications. The Werewolves were dangerous enough in a feral pack-like state, but if they were organised and directed by minds with even a faint grasp of the rudiments of strategy they would be a threat to all of Nosgoth. Only why had history failed to record such an event? And why had such events escaped his own notice during this era? Something was very wrong here.

"What arrangement is this?" He asked intently. Nupraptor shrugged again, his mind clearly elsewhere for the moment.

"Even I cannot understand the mental twists of such debased creatures." He said dismissively, rubbing one finger thoughtfully down the length of his nose, his gaze far away. "Perhaps Bane casts them the scraps from his dining table." He was prepared to dismiss the concept as unimportant. Vorador scowled at him.

"You don't seem concerned by the ramifications of such an alliance." He accused. Nupraptor blinked and turned to look around at him, a frown creasing his face.

"Because it makes no difference to me or my current priorities, which are of far great significance than Bane's pets." He replied tartly. Vorador narrowed his eyes.

"Which is why I find you here in the East now?" He asked, beginning to see why Nupraptor had told him of Bane's grove. He had his own endeavour in the East and now that he was clearly not going to get any help from the other Guardians, he was perhaps offering Vorador information as an act of good will. A favour to be repaid later. But beyond that, Vorador perceived something more. Nupraptor had not been staring off into space just now. He had been looking down at the army outside the walls of the settlement.

"It has something to do with this foolish war, doesn't it?" The Vampire asked. The Mentalist made no reaction, no change of expression or inadvertent movement to confirm or deny, but something about the look of consternation in his eyes made Vorador suspect that his guess had been accurate. Seeming to sense Vorador's growing certainty, the Guardian of Mind glared back at him balefully.

"My business, Vampire." He said flatly and nearly all trace of the jovial friendliness he had displayed before was gone. He began to step away slowly, holding up both hands and cupping them around each other before his chest. His gaze never left Vorador. "You attend to yours." A flicker of light appeared between his arching fingers. "And let me attend to mine."

Vorador watched the Mentalist disappear into his translocation spell, fading away in the hazy light to whatever his destination would be. Now he stood alone atop the tower, staring out at the campfires of William's army far below. His mind rummaged through all he had learned so far, trying to piece it together like an elaborate jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately, unlike a jigsaw puzzle, he could not guess what the final picture was going to look like.

Why was Bane supposedly allied with the Werewolves? What did either party get out of this bizarre arrangement? Why did the Werewolves have such a sudden interest in military tactics and why did they attack the army of the Northern Kingdom? What exactly had Nupraptor done here in the East and how was it connected to this conflict? Why had Bane become so enraged when the Lost City had been mentioned? What more of this fabled location did he know? And perhaps more importantly, just what was this Celestial Arrow that the city contained and how did the Seer intend to put it to use? Too many questions.

-0-

**_"Raziel or Kain might discount such words but I was not them, naive and arrogant as they were. Clearly, secrets were being kept all around and I would do well to keep that in mind. I did not trust Nupraptor, nor the men who I had inadvertently saved in the siege of Valeholm, nor even the Seer who had sent me on this asinine quest in the first place."_**

-0-

While being trapped in the past meant he had no choice, at that moment if he had his way he would be shot of this whole business. Let these men and beasts kill each other in the cold and the wet, let blood be spilt everywhere and life needlessly wasted, as long as he was above it all as he had once been. He stopped himself right there, recognising the thought process. It was the same disregard for the events that transpired in the world that had led him to isolate himself in the dank depths of the Black Forest. It was that disinterest and contempt for the world which had led to his own death and the near extinction of the Vampire race.

It was an attitude that he could no longer afford. Not if he wanted to survive. Not if he wanted all the world had taken from him restored. Janos was retrieved from the demon realm, healed and given back some measure of sanity. The Seer had fulfilled this part of her promise at the very least.

But her other promise would prove more difficult to fulfil: the resurrection of Umah. While such a thing was not impossible, he himself reanimated proof of that, it was still not an everyday occurrence. The Seer had not specified exactly how she would bring Umah back, probably so that Vorador could not attempt the feat himself and ignore her own demand.

Quite deliberately, he ran through all his memories of her, one by one. He recalled how he had first found her, the child of a family of Humans who had agreed to go into thraldom under him. Moebius' crusade had been at its height and the fanatical Time Streamer had wanted to make an example out of any who dared even associate with his quarry.

He had come himself to the sawmill where they had lived and worked, backed by a crowd of his paid lackeys and frothing religious fanatics. He had locked the family inside their own mill and then had it set on fire. Vorador had seen the plume of rising smoke even from his hidden mansion in the depths of the swampy forest. This family had been one of the very few who had remained loyal despite all the disadvantages Moebius had imposed on the people for such stubbornness. Their bloodline had been his since even before the Sarafan crusades.

Under normal circumstances, Vorador would never have moved himself to come to the aid of mere Humans. They were, after all, beneath him and ought to be of no consequence whatsoever. But Moebius' crusade had already robbed him of many kin. Vampires who had also been sired by Janos in the time of the Ancients. One by one, souls who had been with him for centuries and more, Vampires who had survived the wars waged by the Sarafan against them only to fall victim to a mindless, rampaging mob.

The idea of losing something else to Moebius' thugs, anything else, no matter how insignificant it seemed, had been at that moment more than he could bear. He had transformed into a raven and flown straight there, but even so, he had been too late. The mob, their appetite for wanton violence sated, had departed and left the sawmill a smoking pile of twisted cinders.

For a moment, Vorador had thought he had been too late to salvage anything. Then he had heard a wail, a piteous cry for help coming from within the smouldering mill. He had acted without thinking, pulling open the burning debris to find that trapped inside a storage room was a young girl, perhaps no older than eight. She had escaped the fire but had nearly choked to death on the smoke.

Even to this day, Vorador could not say why he had taken this girl as his adopted daughter. A Vampire adopting a Human did have precedence, but it had certainly not been done since the Dark Gift had been invoked. Somehow, the girl had embodied all of the loss and hurt he had endured over the centuries. Loath to lose her, he had taken her into his home.

He had named her Umah, after a heroine from the ancient war, setting her as his most favoured thrall over all the others. Many of his other servants had not liked that, but they had known better than to argue with him about the appointment. Instead, they had connived to murder the young upstart and make it look like an accident.

Even at such a young age, Umah had proven her mettle. She had known of the conspiracy against her and, perhaps eager to please him and prove herself worthy, she killed each one of her would-be rivals. Each time one of them died, it had looked like an accident. One had fallen off a balcony and broken his neck. One wandered into the swamps and had drowned in quicksand. Another had died seemingly in his sleep from a heart attack. One more met his end when the stone holding up a gargoyle on the parapet of the mansion had crumbled and the falling gargoyle had smashed him into the ground.

Each time there were perfectly reasonable explanations for the deaths, each time Umah had had a perfect alibi and each time Vorador knew that she was the one responsible.

In time, she had dominated his Human and even Vampire servants as surely as if she had had his authority and had become a priestess devoted solely to him. She had been a tireless servant, serving his interests so single-mindedly that it bordered on the fanatical. Her loyalty had been unquestioning and her devotion to him so intense that she had endeavoured to revive him once Moebius' mob had finally tracked him down.

Even though Kain, coming back in time to do so, had been the one to give her the Dark Gift, she had henceforth refereed to him as Sire. She had regarded him as her father and sire both and served as his second-in-command during the resistance movement.

Then when she had died, it was as if all the supports had come down inside himself. Losing Janos at the same time, after seeing him again only briefly, had been a combined assault to his esteem and confidence that had all but destroyed him. That was why he had not resisted when the Cabal had been exiled to the islands off the coast of Nosgoth and why, in his despair, he had sealed himself to sleep away the passing of centuries.

-0-

**_"But Umah...Umah I trusted and would see restored even if I had to dredge the depths of Purgatory itself." _**

-0-

Now there was hope. Hope that burned inside and refused to die away, hope that one day he might see his entire family reunited. That was something worth fighting for. That was something worth any struggle to obtain. Kain could strive for the world but he himself would settle for just his family. Let Nosgoth get by as best it can, just so long as Janos and Umah were in it.

His face creasing into a frown, Vorador turned his head to look down at the gates that barred entry to the city. They were, of course, shut fast against the besieging army outside.

-0-

**_"And so my quest took another turn. I would find the Druid Bane once again and extract from the unpleasant hermit the whereabouts of the fabled Lost City. But to find the Druid, I would need to find another of the arctic beasts. Perhaps William could direct me to their lair."_**

-0-

The newly crowned King William would have his scouts watching for the creatures after they had fled from the scene of battle, especially after they had killed his brothers and father. Learning from him where to find the white Werewolves would save him the trouble of scouring the countryside for creatures that could vanish into the wilderness when they so chose.

Siding with the Human again, then, but for Umah it would be worth it.

There was a lightening of the sky in the east, a growing suggestion of colour that was the herald of dawn. He had spent the entire night in melancholy nostalgia and idle chat with the two Guardians. Very soon now, William's army would begin its siege in earnest, perhaps mounting some assaults on the walls or the gate. Weirstein might hold out for months given its easily defended position.

But, of course, if he were to open the gates from within, William could take the city in one day, sparing himself vital time in his campaign and the lives of his fighting men. Doing such a favour for the young king would make him inclined to grant such vital intelligence, saving Vorador the need to beat it out of him.

"I told Kain not to meddle in the affairs of Man." He mused aloud to himself, smiling ironically. "I told his blue skeleton the same thing, and yet here I am." He spread his arms out to either side. "Time will make hypocrites out of us all."

He flowed into the increasingly familiar form of the spider and began to scuttle down the side of the tower. He quickly leapt off and onto the rooftops. In the coming dawn, a giant spider would be easily seen by the guards. As such, he used the spindly form quickly, covering ground through the maze of grey buildings and slate rooftops.

By the time he reached the towers that protected the mechanism that operated the gates of the settlement, the sun was beginning to peek up over the edge of the horizon. The first shaft of sunlight fell across the length of the land, casting long black shadows. These pools of darkness Vorador found very useful, his arachnid body slipping back and forth between each one soundlessly.

The guards were concentrated heavily around the gates, a small garrison of archers and spearmen and a few with a supply of throwing axes. They were gathering there in anticipation of the attack that would surely come today.

Vorador had no intention of trying to take on that many of them at once, especially not for William's sake. Instead, he scaled the side of the gate in the shadow cast by a nearby building just out of their sight. Upon reaching a window, he returned to his natural form and slipped inside.

There was a marksman in the room he entered, busy testing his quiver and its supply of arrows before the fighting commenced. The man was facing the Vampire as he climbed in through the window and when he saw him, he took a frightened step back in alarm. That moment of shocked hesitation was all Vorador needed. He closed the distance between them instantly, Marrow whistling out of its sheath and sliding between the man's ribs. Vorador clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from crying out, even in his pain. He held the man steady and then dropped him to the floor as the body went limp.

The mechanism that held the gates shut was a fairly simple collection of thickly oiled gears operated by a set of levers that were protected by a metal grate. Within that room several archers and crossbowmen had gathered, all of them looking out through several arrow slits down at the army below. As such, they had their backs to the door leading into the room. Vorador caught them all by surprise.

He was quick, slipping into the room as swiftly as a breeze. He used Marrow again, slicing through several of the archers in one graceful motion. He cut their throats one after the other, keeping them from crying out and sounding the alarm. As the others in the room turned to look, he was on them as well. Marrow dipped in and out of chest after chest, puncturing at least five hearts in rapid succession before Vorador ended his advance.

There was one crossbowman left, who had used the time to load the bolt into his weapon. That was a foolish thing to do. He ought to have used whatever time he had to call for help. He fired his crossbow, the bolt snapping towards Vorador with a sharp twang. Negligently and with bored ease, the Vampire swung to one side. The bolt passed right by him and slammed into the wooden ceiling beam.

Springing forward, he brought his arm sharply across and Marrow neatly severed the man's head in a single swing. The body, headless with a blood spurting stump for a neck, wavered for a moment  
before falling forwards onto the floor. Blood spurted out thickly to form a short red puddle.

With the guards disposed of, no witnesses and no alarm raised, Vorador sheathed his weapon and crossed quickly over to the levers. The grate was easily moved out of the way and after only a moment's hesitation, he pulled them down.

The entire tower shuddered in response as the mechanism began to work, churning gears beginning to slowly grind and turn. Shouts of surprise and alarm echoed out from those defending the walls as slowly but surely, the gates of Weirstein creaked open.


	16. 15 Fall of Weirstein

The first one to see the ponderously opening gates of the city was an archer who had gone behind his tent for a leak. As soon as he saw the city gates swing open, he forgot his business and ran straight for his commanding officer with his manhood still hanging out. The gates were open and they were staying open.

"The gate!" He shouted, running through the camp heedless of his dignity. It was only after his commanding officer gave him a stern look that he pulled his furs back on. "They're opening the gate!"

The officers and generals of besieging army did not ask why the defenders of the city had been affected with lunacy. They were not the sort of men to look a gift horse in the mouth. Immediately the order was given and the men were in a hurried frenzy of activity, grabbing up weapons and res-trapping their armour. One of the generals of the army, resplendent in his polished armour rode up front of the assembling cavalry, shouting orders while his aide waved a flag from its tall pole behind him.

"Form up!" He roared, gesturing with the broadsword he held in one hand. The cavalry men obliged, nudging their horses into their wedge formation used for charging enemy lines. As soon as they were assembled, the general look his place at the front of the column. He looked back once to make sure his men were all ready and then clapped his visor down. "Charge!" He thundered and personally led his cavalry up the slope and into the gate.

Almost startlingly they met with no resistance at the walls or gate itself. Corpses were piled all around the walls, the defenders of the gate already killed. Their blood was stick steaming in the cold morning air and the cavalry rode right over the top of them to clatter down the stone street towards the centre of the settlement. Behind the horse riders came the infantry armed with swords, axes and pikes, running up in a surging yelling mass. They poured into Weirstien like a tidal wave and the surprised and chagrined defenders of the city were overcome.

The ensuing struggle lasted a mere quarter of an hour despite fierce fighting. The defenders, without the walls of the city to give them the advantage, were hopelessly outnumbered and outclassed. Those that survived the initial attack pulled back and made a last stand at the square tower in the centre of the settlement. There they were more secure and were able to rain down arrows from the windows at anyone attempting to enter through the door. The northern soldiers poured in, holding their shields up above their heads to ward off the arrows. They hammered on the door with their bodies but the defenders had barricaded it from the inside.

Eventually they brought up a large battering ram, a long wooden pole with a carved rams head for a cap that took four men to carry it. Seeing the ram the defenders rained down arrows at the men carrying it relentlessly and with desperate energy, trying to prevent them to bringing it to bare against the door. Their efforts kept the northerners too busy shielding themselves from the barrage of arrows to use the ram, until a small handful of crossbowmen had gotten into position. While the fighting had distracted the defenders in the tower they had gone behind some of the grey buildings and climbed up onto the slate roofing. With a better vantage point they raised their weapons and fired as one, hitting several defender archers and knocking them from the windows. Some fell backwards into the rooms they occupied while others tumbled out to crash to the stone ground at the foot of the tower; either way the arrow storm was lessened and the northerners were quick to take advantage. Bringing the battering ram forward they slammed it into the door, over and over as the wooden barrier was hammered down.

After a fierce few moments of physical struggle, the door flew off its hinges. With a roar of triumph the northern poured in through the open door, swords and axes in their hands. The fight for the tower could not even be called that. It was nothing short of a massacre. The northerners brutally hacked their way through the tower giving no quarter to anyone they met. After the span of a few minutes had passed it was over.

By the end of the bloody melee, the eviscerated corpses of Weirstien's occupying soldiers were hauled unceremoniously up and over the wall and down into the ravines below with much jeering and vulgar insults hurled after them. A lone swordsman climbed to the top of the settlements square watchtower and when he got there he unfurled the flag he had been carrying under one arm. From the height of the tower he flew the flag of the Northern Kingdom, announcing to the waiting reserved and tacticians still in the encampment that the attack had been successful.

Within the next few minutes, William De'Segnir and his bodyguard Ser Barentein along with a dozen armed men rode up the ponderously open gates. Unimpeded they strode through the gate and up the main street towards the centre of the city. There they were met by the general who had led the attack. His armour was now dented in a few places but he beamed wickedly at his new king as he approached.

"The city is ours, your Majesty." He declared, gesturing out with one hand around at the streets around them full of armoured and furred men. "We lost ten men in the fighting but it's a ridiculously small price to pay for the taking of this position."

William, paused to look over the place with critical expression as if he were evaluating its worth now that he could see it from the inside out. Then he turned in his saddle and gestured imperiously with one hand.

"Bring out the locals; I want them searched for weapons and any enemy soldiers that might have hidden amongst them." He commanded. His order was carried out immediately, then northerners setting to hammering in the locked doors of the city. One by one the inhabitants of Weirstien were dragged out of their shelters and forced into the snow clogged streets. Each of them were systematically searched and anything that could be used as a weapon was confiscated. The people had no attempt to resist and only stood protectively around their children as the progress of disarming continued. Once or twice there was an enemy soldier trying to hide, but surprisingly the locals themselves turned them in. They stepped aside from the man attempting concealment and made it quite clear that they were not one of them. Such men were immediately taken under arms and dragged around a corner where they could be quietly killed.

From horseback, William looked out across the sea of faces before him with a frown. Many of them were gaunt and hollow cheeked. A fair share had badly healed scared as well as clearly infected sores in places. His expression tightened and then the young king turned to speak to the general on the horse behind his.

"I want whatever food and medicines we can spare passed out to the hungry and destitute of this city." He said. The general blinked several times, a startled and puzzled look plain on his weathered face.

"Your majesty?" He asked, hoping for clarification for the confusing order.

"I am not here as a conqueror." William told him and deliberately raised his voice so that his words carried. The soldiers around them and even some of the locals under scrutiny turned their heads to look up at him. With a flamboyant wave of his arm the young king gestured out at the crowd. "I come to liberate these people."

With the stylish flare that a professional thespian would be jealous off, he turned in his saddle and called out across the crowd in a loud clear voice.

"Let it be known that King William, ruler of the north, will succour the poor and the needy of the cities he takes!" He declared to them all. "The food and medicines that were stolen from the people by the Dogma and their Mandarin tyrants will be returned! They will be protected under his law and his national boundaries and he will raise them up from under the boot heal of their oppressors!"

Perhaps the people merely thought that William had a gift for the theatrical rather then this speech being carefully prepared beforehand. After a moment of silence a stunned mutter began through the crowd. Both the eastern locals and the northern soldiers were talking amongst themselves of this deceleration. Many were asking how the king could afford to be so generous and if this was a good sign of his impending rule.

Many remained somewhat sceptical until the promised food and medicine was brought up from the encampment below and rationed out to the neediest of Weirstien. William even ordered the surgeons that accompanied his military force to tend to the word of the sick. By mid day, many were in awe of William's generosity and compassion. Morale in the northern army was good and the locals of Weirstien were beginning to openly and even eagerly cooperate with their new guests.

From the shadows and dark placed, Vorador watched it all with a depending frown and an appalled glare.

-0-

**_"How disgusting false. William was conquering these cities, all while wearing the benign face of liberation. He might give the people a few extra loaves of bread to ensure their cooperation during his campaign, but they would quickly find that once the war was over things would be no better under their new master than their old." _**

-0-

The Vampire had seen his tactic used before many times. Kings and would be military adventurers of all stripes often hid their greed for power and land behind a thin and false curtain of emancipation. Mankind had such a bad collective memory that they never learned from history. This had happened again and again and still the people made the fool. Perhaps one day mankind would educate itself enough to avoid being lured into his same trap again and again, but it was obviously not going to happen today.

William did not linger in the city but soon returned to the encampment with all his generals, leaving a few officers to coordinate requisitions and the handling of the settlement's populous. Assuming the form of a raven, Vorador followed closely behind. No one gave him a second glance as by now many carrion birds had begun to fill the air to pick over the remains of the dead. In his feathered disguise, the Vampire watched as William and his followers dismounted and made their way swiftly into a large canvas pavilion. Swordsmen quickly moved to block and guard the entrance, large men with their faces hidden behind deaths head style visors.

Vorador circled overhead lazily several times, considering his options, keeping one beady birds eye on the large tent below.

-0-

**_"I could simply walk up to William and demand the information I required but that solution involved violence, the likes of which I did not intend to invite. I would need to devise some way of entering that command tent without alerting the guards."_**

-0-

The answer to his riddle was plain enough. Making it look casual, he circled lower and lower in the air until he came to rest on the ground. Trying to look like an ordinary bird he paddled his way around the side of the tent. The guards never looked twice at him. Unhindered, Vorador circled the tent on the ground looking for a gap. Tents always had gaps somewhere. Eventually he found one, a loose flap where a peg had come free. It was wide enough to permit him to wiggle through.

Inside the tent he found himself behind a portable weapons rack, full of broadswords all in a neat row. Beyond that was a large space where a table were erected and standing around it were William and his generals.

Vorador crouched his feathery body low and kept still, listening intently to the talk they were engaged it.

"I think we should leave a thousand men to garrison Weirstien, your majesty." One of the generals was saying, gesturing with a thumb over one shoulder out the pavilion's entrance and in the general direction of the taken settlement. "That many we can afford to lose and the city can be defended by so small a force."

William had pushed his chainmail hood back letting his hair out. He nodded once.

"I'm inclined to agree." He said without looking up. "But for the moment I would rather focus on how to win this campaign." He removed his gauntlets and laid them off to one side. "It's a long march to the capital from here."

All the men were looking at the table. From this worms eye view Vorador could not see what they were looking at but supposed it to be a military map similar to the one William had so flippantly given away.

"The land is flat grassland to the south, your majesty." Another general remarked and pointed to the spot. "It would be best to ride south directly towards Zwergstadar." His finger traced a short line on the map. "Cut off the snakes head before it has the chance to strike." He made a sharp cutting gesture with his free hand.

William rubbed the end of his chin with one finger, frowning at the map and at the proposed plan of action. There was an expectant silence and then he shook his head.

"No, there is no way to hide troop movements in that open grassland." He said and patted the map with the palm of his hand. "Their scouts would see us coming from miles away." The young king looked down to the spot on the map that was their intended target. "By the time we reach Zwergstadar we'd find the city fortified and garrisoned by every fanatic soldier they have."

The generals looked each other then back at the map, a few of them muttering amongst themselves in dark tones.

"Then what do you suggest, your majesty?" One of them asked, politely but with the clear undercurrent suggestion that he did not think William's qualified to lecture them on military tactics. William was no fool and the look he directed back at his general clearly showed he had seen the implied reprimand and was ready to rebut it.

"Perhaps if we sent some troops south west past this sulphur lake towards Harduum leading more horses and carrying dummies for riders." He said and when he spoke it was with confidence the belied his youth, his voice firm and filled with the rigid iron of command. "From a distance we can fool the scouts into thinking we mean to take that settlement."

At first the generals were looking at their kind with the upmost scepticism but as he talked, they visibly thawed as they considered the merits of his plan, even if they did so reluctantly. William kept them listening, his tone of voice never wavering to show uncertainty and his narrative certain and filled with conviction. Even Vorador had to admit at this point that William was a skilled politician.

"Then the main army can march through this short range of mountains and down through the fens, carefully taking out scouts along the way." The young king carried on, his finger tracing his proposed route on the map. "With their attention diverted, the Dogma wouldn't expect such a force to arrive on their eastern frontier. We could encircle the city before they have a chance to reinforce their garrison or further supplies for a siege."

The general hummed in varying degrees of appreciation; at the very least it was a sound strategic innovation.

"You've had some military training that we have not heard about, I suspect, your Majesty." One of them remarked a little whimsically. William let one side of his mouth twice in what might have been a quickly suppressed smile.

"I didn't spend all my time in the educational centres of Stahlberg drinking up mead and ale, General." He replied somewhat flippantly. Another of the generals grumbled, his thick red bread bristling and called their attention back to the map by jabbing a large finger on it.

"The fens are a vast expanse of swampland, your majesty." He said and there was more then disapproval in his voice. "Extremely rough terrain, bogs and marches, full of sinkholes and wide rivers. Much of it is unexplored."

William leaned up into an erect standing position and allowed himself a wide almost boyish grin, his eyes alight with some private merriment.

"I am confident our men are up to being cold, wet and muddy for a short while." He said and then folded his arms across his chest, the armour he wore clattering against itself slightly. "I have made my decision." He nodded once affirmatively. "We attack Zwergstadar from the east with a western diversion."

The generals collectively stared for a long time down at the map on the table, their expressions ranging from contemplative to scornfully disapproving. However William was king and had made a command decision. Whether that decision was right or wrong was now immaterial, they had no right to countermand his wishes.

"As you say, your majesty." One of them eventually said with a nod. "I will see to the garrison force and organise the rest of the troops for the easterly march." With William's returned nod of consent he left the tent, followed shortly after by most of the other generals. Two stayed behind briefly to talk about the logistics of the trek into the mountains and then through the swampy fens, the need for rafts to cross the rivers and to move the supply train. Once that had discussed that issue they too left, leaving William alone in the tent. The young king looked again over the map, only now he was unobserved did his face cease into an expression of doubt as he surveyed his intended route to take once more.

Vorador slipped out from his place of concealment and padded on bird feet up behind the recently crowned monarch. Once he was in position he let himself flow slowly back into his regular form, growing and expanding until he was a good head and shoulders taller than the man before him. William flinched, seeing the shadow the vampire cast across him and swiftly turned around. He blinked, finding himself face to face with the infamous butcher of the Circle. He leaned back against the table as Vorador was right in his personal space.

"William." Vorador began and with that one spoken name he somehow managed to convey the implication that if the young king called for assistance from the guards it would not turn out well for him. William got the message immediately. He stepped slightly to one side so he was not within arm's reach and ran a hand over his face to gather his momentarily scattered wits.

"Pardon my flippancy but I do hope you're not following me, Vampire." He remarked. "Whenever you are around lately it has been during times of great personal danger." Then he paused, a frown knitting his brow. He looked at the Vampire and then out the tent flap where Weirstien could just be seen from that angle. Then he turned back and there was a shrewd smile on his face. His body relaxed and the hand that had been gripping the hilt of his sword fell away. Vorador had been watching that hand very closely.

"And if my intuition serves me correct, I have you to thank for opening the gates and letting me take the settlement without a prolonged siege." He guessed. Vorador did not make any sort of confirming gesture but he did not need to. William's smile broadened and he inclined his head. "Kudos."

Quickly he crossed over to the entrance to the tent and pulled the flap completely shut.

"But even so you do well to come to me, privately." He said when he turned back. "My soldiers become somewhat nervous when the minions of darkness appear in their midst. They may choose to attack rather than talk."

Vorador simply shrugged one large shoulder with indifference.

"That would not be wise of them." He replied. William chuckled half-heartedly.

"No I suspect it would not." The young king paused then and looked thoughtful. "By the way, I've always wanted to ask a Vampire something." Vorador looked at him for a long moment and then, purely on a whim, decided to indulge him.

"What?"

"Can you eat and drink?" That had not been what he had expected the question to be and Vorador stared at the young king. William looked almost boyishly curious. "All the world knows that you need blood to survive, but can you eat food like we do or not?"The question came so out of the blue that William might as well have asked him if Vampires liked to keep pets. He rolled his eyes at the tenacity for humans to dwell of technical details that didn't matter in the slightest.

"We can if we choose, but it's not necessary." He replied irritable, not much caring if William believed him or not.

"Fascinating." The young king replied and went around to the far side of the table, purposely keeping it between himself and the sudden Vampire intruder. Despite having fought side by side in the chapel at Valeholm, he was not so foolish as to put himself in so potentially deadly a situation.

"So, what can I do for you?" He asked in so casual a tone, it was as if he were merely giving audience in his own court to grievances aired by his citizenry. Vorador's frown deepened at the man's overly familiar manner but he let it slide.

"The white werewolves that killed your brothers and father." He said and had the satisfaction of watching the impendent young king stiffen slightly at the reminder. "I need to find them."

William's face clouded over with a serious expression that was one part anger, one part remorse and something that was very close to, but not quite, guilt. Then the moment passed and his causal winsome look was back to mask the emotion.

"Don't we all?" He remarked dryly and his hand moved back to the hilt of his sword, not threateningly but with relish at the thought of future action; the fingers lingering on the ivory handle of the weapon for a few moments.

"Your scouts must have told you where they fled to." Vorador pressed. William was still lost in his private musings, eyes narrowed and his gaze distant.

"I have had some reports, yes." He admitted after a long moment of silence, broken only by the sounds of the men in camp around them.

"Where?" The Vampire asked and his tone was insistent. William blinked once and brought his full attention back to the present. He fixed Vorador with a searching sort of look as if he were suddenly suspicious and wary, a marked change from his usual cavalier attitude.

"Do you mean to kill them?" He asked after a moment and he sounded both eager and worried at the same time, a cold fierceness in his eyes that amplified the underlying emotion that bubbled only skin deep. Despite his campaign, his elevation of monarch and current military concerns, William was still a young man who recently had seen three members of his family brutally killed by monstrous beasts.

"I need information from them." Vorador simply replied. He did not say that he expected a fair number of werewolves to be used up in the obtaining of this information but William seemed to sense this anyway. His smile returned and there was a sadistic twist to it. He let his hand drop away from his sword as he looked Vorador up and down, as if he was taking another hard look at the Vampire. He would not help but notice the new additions to Vorador's outfit.

"You never did tell me exactly what you're looking for in the east." He stated and ended in a querying note. Vorador's returning frown was as rigid as cast iron.

"No I didn't." He said and his tone was utterly final. He was not about to tell his young upstart of a newly crowned king what he was about. William looked away from that direct gaze and cleared his throat.

"Since you opened the gates of Weirstien I think I owe you this much." He admitted and looked down at the map on the table. He gestured with one hand towards it. Now Vorador's line of sight was above the table he could see it was a map of far greater detail than the one he had been given earlier. It showed the eastern lands of Nosgoth down to the last small village and hunters camp, even with symbols denoting the presence of dangerous animals like wolves and bears. The young king pointed to a large flat plain of land directly to the south.

"Most of the animals disappeared into the wilderness." He said. "But many were seen fleeing to the south; towards the body of water the locals call the 'Spirit Lake'." His finger pointed to a large stretch of water directly in the centre of the vast expanse of land. Drawn in the water was the image of a twisting sea serpent, crushing a boat in its jaws. Vorador studied the map intently for a moment. Judging by the scale of the map, the lake was at least a few days travel from Weirstien even on the wing.

"I am afraid I can tell you no more than that." William continued. "Whether the beasts make their lair there or that is simply their rallying point, I do not know."

Vorador pressed his lips together tightly, considering what steps he should next take. Only the wolves could tell him where to find Bane and from the Druid he would learn where to find the Lost City. This running around, finding one thing in order to locate another was beginning now to get on his nerves. No wonder Kain and his blue skeletal friend had seemed to be randomly flitting around from one meaningless quest to another. Firmly he kept the end goal of his quest in the forefront of his mind and it helped to push the irritation aside.

"Then I bid you good day." He said and moved back from the table, already fixing his destination for a translocation spell.

"I'd be careful out there, Vorador." William warned quickly, raising a hand. His tone had turned serious again. "The Dogma's Mandarin rulers will have sensed your involvement by now. They are reputed to be wizards of no small ability."

Vorador smiled slightly to himself at the abnormality of a human warning a Vampire to be careful, especially himself.

"Whoever these 'Mandarins' are, they will not hamper me." He said with the confidence built of many centuries of fought and won struggles. He brought his hands up, cupping them around a point in front of his chest.

"I would hate if those were your famously ironic last words." William remarked sardonically as the light of the spell enveloped the Vampire and he was whisked away.

He did not travel far. The spell brought him out of the camp at once and across the ravine to the far side. He emerged from the depths of the spell there, staring out across the gully. From here he could see the camp on the other side. To the north and above on the edge of the cliff, Weirstien loomed with the new flag of the Northern Kingdom fluttering high.

He turned then and looked out towards the south. The jagged rocks and short spires that rose from the local terrain did not allow him to see very far but when he had been flying to this region from the west he had seen that directly south was a large expanse of snowy tundra. With the snows and winds beginning to abate he might be able to make good enough time to catch up with his prey.

-0-

**_"This journey had many twists and turns. I was to find the wolves so I could in turn find Bane, who would direct me to the Celestial Arrow in the infamous Lost City. How Kain tolerated this maze with such equanimity was beyond my comprehension."_**

-0-

Once more he morphed himself and flowed back into the form of the raven, sprouting feathers and wings. He was in the air even before the transformation was complete and as his full wings snapped open he caught an updraft rising from the ravine below and was carried up high into the air. Soaring into the sky he left the natural air currents carry him on, leaving the place of his natural birth and its link to his buried human existence behind for good.


	17. 16 Five Princes, one mind

The ravines ended a few miles to the south, rising up into a mountain range that ran through the middle of Nosgoth's eastern lands. To the west of the lowlands of these mountains was a vastly sprawling tundra, a dry grassland with patches of eternal evergreen trees intermixed with shallow running streams. Herds of moose and deer roamed the wilderness, being stalked from hidden copses by packs of wolves. There were a few encampments of hunters here and there, carcasses of their kills turning on spits with their pegged out skinned hides drying in the air. Here in the wilderness the concerns of nations doing battle was a faraway, alien thing, unknown and of little interest.

Eventually the land began to flatten out and the trees became more and more scarce. The grass began to disappear to be replaced by a rough, rocky terrain that was a mixture of gravel and lancing columns of basalt rock. The only animals here were some aquatic mammals that lived in various large pools feeding on the crabs that scuttled from the water.

The black winged bird flew on over it all and as it travelled, the bleak, uniformly grey clouds which had covered the heavens began to break apart and patches of the wintery sky came through. The weather began to turn warmer as the journey progressed south. The snowdrifts were not quite so deep and the winds far less frigid. In many places the snow was wet slush and wandering game had stamped wide paths of churned mud.

By the time he saw the actual lake itself, Vorador could already smell the sulphur in the air. It was so thick that in large patches even up in the air it was hard to breathe. As reported, the so-called Lake of Spirits was surrounded on all sides by geysers that spat hot sulphurous water high into the air at regular intervals. The lake was huge, larger perhaps than the Lake of Tears far to the west and its far bank was a smudge on the horizon. Reluctantly the raven he had become began to circle down towards the ground, slipping in between the bursting jets of stinking water before coming to rest on a flat outcropping of basalt beyond the spray range of the geysers.

The bird folded its wings upon landing and then began to swiftly morph, twisting and flowing until Vorador had reassumed his proper shape and form. Frowning at the stench all around him, he turned to look back across the water. The lake was never at any moment still. Ripples ran across its surface from the regular emissions that boiled up from the lakebed.

-0-

**_"I found myself staring out at the stinking expanse of a sulphurous lake. Gasses trapped in the earth below often erupted to the surface and geysers vomited up boiling water. It was an inhospitable area where not even fish lived in the water."_**

-0-

There was no sign of animal life of any kind here. The only exception was the bleached white bones of some creature lying scattered on the rocks by the edge of the water. The skeleton lay there as death had taken it, probably an elk judging by the antlers, collapsed near the lake's boundary. The skeleton had been left undisturbed, his body rotting where it had fallen. No carrion eaters had risked coming here to pick over the carcass.

Nothing lived in this area. The waters were poisonous, the air a toxin and the ground itself sterile rock. This was a place that invited only death for any poor unfortunate who wandered in and stayed too long. As such this place would be perfect for something to hide, a remote, inhospitable region where there would be no prying eyes. If one was careful the hazards of this area could be avoided. So if this lake really was the rallying place for the arctic Werewolves then it would be perfect, a location for them to assemble without being seen.

But of course, now that he could see this land up close Vorador doubted that their lair was here. There was simply not enough cover and even if the Werewolves would be able to avoid the dangers, this place was not all that isolated.

A bubble of trapped gas from the bottom of the lake erupted out some distance from shore and the stink in the air intensified. Vorador, who had an enhanced sense of smell, wrinkled his nose in disgust and turned his head away. He was more resilient against hostile environments but even he would not be able to remain here forever without risking harm. It would be best if he went on with his search for any trace of the beasts. Once he found them he would wring the location of Bane's grove out of their white furred bodies and be one step closer to the LostCity. Or at least he hoped.

He was just turning away, moving for a crevice that passed along the edge of the lake, when something caught his eye. It was the lay of the land as he turned, the shape of the rocks on the northern side of the lake from his position. It was the same flash of familiarity that he had experienced in Weirstein, a sense of having seen this place before.

He stood there looking at that scene for just a moment. That was all he needed for the full memory to come flooding in. It came in a rush. An unbidden smile crossed his lips.

-0-

**_"And yet this desolate land was familiar. Yes, I knew this place well now. It was to here I had fled as a young boy from the intended unmanning planned for me by the shaman. Here I had fallen, broken, tired and hungry, awaiting death to claim me in one form or another."_**

-0-

He looked for the exact spot and found it. Just across the water from him there was a flat rock that jutted out over the water. He remembered in a blurry sort of way that that had been where he had collapsed. He had run for days from Weirstein to arrive at the shore of the lake. But like a fool he had rushed out onto the edge of the rock to be met with a blast of toxic gas from the lake. Already weakened and weary, he had been overcome and had fallen to the ground on the edge of death.

He frowned then. There was something else as well there in that memory, something that seemed very out of place. He could remember that as he lay there on the stone he had thought he had seen something out in the water of the lake. He had not had a good look at it but it had seemed to be a glowing set of eyes looking at him from out of the water. He remembered two pairs of eyes with a circular fifth right in the middle.

He shook his head, dismissing the image from his mind. Obviously he had been overcome by the gas and had been hallucinating. There was something far more important to remember than some vision produced by breathing in a noxious air.

-0-

**_"And then...yes, I remembered. Janos had appeared. He had descended from the skies, an angel of blue skin and black wings, come to deliver me from death or mutilation."_**

-0-

Ajatar had said that Janos had come to the East as part of some expedition. Vorador knew nothing about that but whatever his reason for being there; Janos had scooped him up from the ground as easily as one might lift a hen from inside a coop. He must have been awake long enough to see this as he could recall the worried expression of Janos' face now, but after that nothing. He must have passed out again.

-0-

**_"From this point on he had been my father, a figure far more suited to the role than the barbarous Human who had ploughed my mother, content to let me be neutered for their obscure religion."_**

-0-

The once compelling lure of the past of Weirstein was now all but gone, lost in memories of a past far more deserving of remembrance. He ran over in his mind his life under Janos' tutelage, growing up in his household and the Citadel itself. As he matured he had displayed intelligence and great aptitude for learning and combat, so Janos had sent him to join the Serioli Order and learn their elemental techniques.

Those had been happy memories, memories of those who had cared for him, who had nurtured and protected him, who had taught him much and showed him how to be all that he could be. Ajatar-Cadre had in many ways been a mother figure to him, although he would never say so to her face, but it was Janos who was undisputedly his father.

But as wonderfully nostalgic as all this mental revelry was, it was distracting him once more from his primary goal. With a nod of determination he turned from his past once more to place his attention firmly back on the present.

He began a methodical search of the area, going back and forth in his explorations. He made sure he missed nothing, crisscrossing his path several times. He knew what to look for in his search of the beasts and what to sense and feel when a geyser was about to erupt or poisonous gas drifted his way.

While he did not immediately find a trace of the white Werewolves, when evening came and the setting sun cast long dark shadows, he did find a small encampment. He came across it quite unexpectedly, hidden in a wide ring of stone. It was sheltered from the worst of the free floating noxious gas of the lake by a large crag of basalt that stood in the way.

As soon as he saw it he remained out of sight of the several dozen marksmen that stood around its perimeter as watchers. Vorador studied the camp from a distance. He was perhaps several feet above and hidden by the rocks so he could afford a leisurely contemplation.

The camp was moderately sized, perhaps able to hold over a thousand soldiers and its military purpose was quite clear. There were many armed men within it and there were stands of weapons and crates and barrels of supplies here and there, all tightly wrapped up for preservation against the harsh, wet conditions of the immediate environment.

The Vampire could tell immediately that this was not a force of men from the Central plain. These were more of the native men who belonged to the opposing force. They had that same leather armour and angular features.

-0-

**_"Here I discovered a camp, no doubt belonging to this mysterious 'Dogma' which controlled the East. William would want to know of this force so close to his army. But his scouts could bring that information to him. I was not one of them."_**

-0-

No doubt they were here to hide their force  
until they could surprise the Central invaders in some ambush. Vorador cared little. He paused long enough to ensure that the men in the camp were not making any move to scout the surrounding wilderness. No, they seemed content to sit in camp and tend to their cooking fires. If he kept clear of the camp they would not bother him on his own search.

Suddenly he felt the unmistakable lurch of a translocation spell being enacted. Someone was moving through space to his location. Alarmed, he turned sharply and watched as five figures materialised out of their individual hazes of light. Quickly he drew Marrow from its sheath even before the five of them had finished their transfer.

There were five men and at first glance they all seemed identical. Their facial features were almost exactly the same and they all had long drooping moustaches and shoulder length, slickly oiled hair. Their eyes were all the same, a pale sky blue that almost had the appearance of those with cataracts but they were all looking at him intently. They all wore robes made of fine silk, delicately embroidered along the edges with arcane-looking markings. Across the chest of each one was a symbol. A creature's claw outstretched and talons wrapped around the circle of a pearl outlined in white.

The only way to tell them apart was by the general colour of their robes. One of them wore red, another wore blue, another yellow and yet another wore green. The man in the middle wore a white robe and he came forward a few steps, his eyes never leaving Vorador. Despite the fact that he had not seen any of them before in his life, the Vampire had a sudden foreboding feeling.

"So we find you as..." The man in the white robe began in a heavily accented voice.

"...our spies told us." The one in the blue robe finished the sentence in that very same voice, as if there was only one speaker and it had simply shifted who it was using to talk through.

"You meddle in affairs that..." The green robed man said.

"...are not yours." The red robed man finished. All of them frowned in equal measure, the exact same synchronized expression at once.

"Your efforts are..." The man in the yellow robes began and predictably another of them, the man in the blue robe, finished his sentence. "...futile against us, Vampire."

Vorador glanced from figure to figure, Marrow still tight in the grasp of one hand. He frowned at the effort to go from speaker to speaker simply to follow the thread of a sentence. It grated on his nerves immensely. He glared savagely around at them all. They formed a semicircle, keeping him with his back towards a rock pinnacle.

"You presume I even know who you are." He said, keeping Marrow at his side. As one, the five robed men deepened their frown.

"Do not play us..." The man in the red robes began.

"...for fools." The one in the green finished. He made the first unique gesture out of the five of them and pointed vaguely in the direction of the north.

"We know you have been..." The man in blue robes started.

"...fighting on behalf of William De'Segnir." The white robed man completed. Vorador took a moment to assess the men before him. They were clearly able to use magic of some degree and if what he was seeing was to be believed, the five of them were linked in their minds so that a sentence started with one and finished with another.

"A mere conspiracy of circumstance, I assure you." He replied flatly. As one the men took a step forward. They even walked in unison, putting their right feet first.

"We are not willing to..." The blue robed man began.

"...take that chance." The yellow robed man finished. Their shared voice had taken on a darker tone and behind that were the implications of impending violence. Suddenly as one, the five men straightened and began to talk.

"We are the Mandarins. Rulers and prophets of the Dogma." They said all together. Their voices were exactly the same, right down to the inflections. "We are the voice of order, of purpose and unity."

Vorador pressed his lips together into a thin line. So these were the so-called rulers of the East, were they? Why had he not been aware of them functioning in this time? He doubted he would have been so distracted with something else to not at least have been aware of such a peculiar ruling power.

"Nosgoth has for all its history been..." The white Mandarin started.

"...a cauldron of chaos and conflict." The blue one finished for his peer. "We will smother all disputes..."

"...under one controlled voice." The green Mandarin continued on. "We offer you...

"...this one chance." The speaker was the white Mandarin again. "Join with us and be secure, for..."

"...even Vampires will be welcome amongst our faithful."

Vorador relaxed slightly and swept each of the five Mandarins with a slowly shifting stare, studying each of them in turn before moving on to the next. They seemed in no hurry for his reply, standing there silently waiting for his response. He was sure that they already knew what it would be and he scoffed at the arrogance they displayed by asking despite this.

"I know not by what sorcery you share your minds but clearly you are not an enlightened set of beings." He said with heavy contempt. "You seek conquest as many an ambitious despot before you." His lips parted in a knowing smile. "And as many an ambitious despot after you." He waved his free hand dismissively. "Your offer is not even worth my time in considering."

The five Mandarins did not look at all surprised by his reply. They simply stood there motionless and silent for another long moment and then, as one, they began to step back away from him.

"Very well. Let it not be said that..." The red Mandarin began.

"...you were not warned." The white Mandarin finished. Then he raised his arms and flung them wide. "Come, rend this foolish Vampire..."

"...to quivering pieces." This last they finished in unison and then they vanished as quickly as they had come into the light of a translocation spell. Vorador's attention, however, was off them even before they vanished, for suddenly he was aware of something else.

Gathering in the rocks all around him were dark shapes. Large, fast moving things that darted from cover to cover. There were many of them, perhaps about twenty or more and they were all moving too fast for him to see.

It was only when one of them leapt up onto the top of a rock that he was able to determine what they were. He started slightly in surprise at the sight of a Werewolf, but not the arctic white Werewolves he had been searching for. This one was covered in black fur, dark as night. It seemed almost like a shade against the rock. Then more of its ilk began to appear one by one, all of them black Werewolves with long, shaggy fur coats that made them look more like bears than wolves. They quickly began to surround him, slipping over the rocks silently like shadows cast in evening. They were anatomically different from the white Werewolves as well, having longer arms and shorter hind legs. Their tails were also shorter and their muzzles longer, showing more of their teeth beneath their spittle covered gums.

Just where this new breed of beast had come from Vorador could not say. They seemed to have materialised out of nowhere, for he could not have been so distracted by the Mandarins' bizarre talk that he would not sense the approach of so many. He did not have time to consider this further, however, as the beasts dove at him in a sudden rush. All of them swarmed at him at once, a dozen pairs of clawed hands and snapping maws.

The Vampire made no attempt to directly fight such an onslaught. Instead he leapt backwards and rebounded off of the rock he had been backed to. Propelled high into the air he soared overhead, spinning his body as he went to neatly slice off the head of one beast that tried to snap at him. He came down behind another. His speed was superior and as it turned in a lunge he sliced it open from the groin to the throat. Entrails and gore spilled out onto the stone before the beast collapsed onto its piling guts.

The others in this pack ignored their slain and gathered around, encircling the Vampire quickly. It was a common hunting tactic, to keep the prey surrounded and then attack from different sides at once. Vorador had seen such a ploy used too often in hunting animals to be so easily caught. He waited until the first of the beasts made its move, darting forward with mouth agape. He charged to meet it, bringing Marrow around in a cleaving arch. Blade met jaws and the blade proved to be stronger, slicing through the skull and severing the top jaw from the bottom.

As the corpse toppled to one side, another of the creatures came in from the left fast and with deadly intent with agape jaws trying to fasten on his side. Vorador ducked low under the lunge of the shaggy black Werewolf, his body arching around quickly and gracefully and bringing Marrow around to cleave the beast neatly from the hip to the right shoulder. The two halves spurting blood and trailing sliced globs of flesh fell apart to either side.

Two black beasts, one slightly larger than its fellow, charged at him from behind, snarling with their tongues hanging out past their dagger-like teeth. The smaller was the fastest and reached Vorador first, leaping forward bringing its claws up in an attempt to claw open his rib cage from below. Vorador neatly sidestepped the creature and sliced off its hands for its trouble. He didn't leave it to suffer long as when he stepped forward past it, Marrow lanced back once and severed head from neck.

The larger creature came at him then, tackling him with the full force of its bulk and forcing him to take a step backwards. It snarled as it pressed forward, jaws snapping inches away and spittle flying all over his face. Grimacing, Vorador grabbed it by the throat with his free hand and brought it sharply down, impaling its head on Marrow's serpentine blade.

At the same time another creature from the far side lunged, trying to take advantage of Vorador's supposed distraction. But the Vampire had been expecting it, waiting for it even. This was the moment where he could make his escape from this deadly game.

Grasping Marrow's hilt in both hands, he turned and used the sword as a lever. With some force he flung the impaled body straight at the charging beast. The living and dead Werewolves collided in a crash and tumbled head over heels into several startled more. The tangled ball of fur, teeth and claws rolled a short distance before crashing into a large rock.

The other beasts began to converge, determined now to finish off Vorador in a single combined attack. The Vampire had seconds in which to act. He used them to good effect. With practised speed and grace he transformed into his own wolf form, the shape far more like the actual animal than these mutants. In this form he had an even greater edge of speed and agility and as the beasts came for him he darted through their outstretched arms and snapping jaws quick as lightning.

He broke from them easily and began darting away across the rocks, bounding for the safety of higher ground. But the Werewolves were not without their own speed and were soon following along behind, galloping on all fours like a combination of a dog and a monkey. They moved with surprising speed for such a gait, scrambling over the rocks in pursuit.

Vorador kept ahead of them but the disadvantages to this form quickly began to tell. The wolf was an animal suited to long distance sprinting and Vorador was being forced to constantly swerve and turn in the confines of such rocky terrain. The paws of the animal were not very good for climbing up steep rock either, constantly slipping over the smooth, slanted surfaces and unable to grip ledges.

Finally the Vampire had to give it up. The Werewolves were quite able to keep up over this terrain. A far better form would be one that could move fast but also scale obstacles easily. His newly acquired arachnid shape was perfect.

On the edge of a sharp precise he paused, watching the black creatures scramble up towards him. Quickly he flowed back into his normal shape and from there assumed the form of the giant spider he had so recently acquired.

At the sight of a spider the size of a pony perched on the rocks, the Werewolves all skidded to an abrupt and confused stop. That moment of startled immobility cost them. Vorador reared up and from his abdomen fired a thick spray of webbing all over them, entangling them all in a mess of fur and silk. They howled and thrashed but the more they struggled the more entangled they became. Soon all but a few of them were stuck together or against the sides of rocks, howling and snarling in impotent rage for their humiliating predicament.

The Vampire took the opportunity to scuttle away, climbing higher and higher over the rocks in his multi-legged body far easier and faster than any of his still unbound pursuers could. Soon he slipped over the top of a ridge and was beyond their reach. Still he did not wait around, for eventually those beasts would free themselves and find an alternate way up. He kept in this form, scuttling along and making far better time over the rocks than he would otherwise.

-0-

**_"Clearly I had made enemies. It would be the course of prudence to avoid unnecessary conflict in the future."_**

-0-

As he continued along he went over the encounter with these so-called 'Mandarins' again in his mind. Some powerful magic had indeed been used to weld their five minds together. That synchronous talking and movement had been no act. No amount of rehearsal could allow individuals to achieve such coordination. They also had access to no small degree of power of their own if they were able to translocate themselves, a skill only adept mages could employ. But the biggest mystery was their apparent control over Werewolves and those of a different variation than the white, arctic subspecies he had been looking for.

Clearly there was much more going on here than he suspected. White Werewolves, black Werewolves, Bane, Nupraptor and now these five mind-linked mages. The Lost City was somehow linked into all of this, he was sure of that now. But just what was the importance?

He growled despite the fact his mouth was insect mandibles and doing so ought to have been impossible. Damn the Seer. She would have known what sort of complicated quagmire she had sent him into. Was this some sick Hylden joke, just so she could watch him squirm in confusion from afar? Was the so-called Celestial Arrow nothing more than a prank?

He was so caught up in his angry thoughts that when he came across the white Werewolves, he almost didn't see them. As soon as he did, however, he shunted back into his regular form so quickly it was almost instinctive.

The arctic beasts were making good time through a ravine just to the east, keeping down and well out of sight. He might have missed them had it not been for one of them hopping up on a rock to make sure the coast was clear for the others. They were still some distance away but there was no mistaking them for anything other than the white Werewolves he had been fighting until the black variety had shown themselves. They were moving quickly towards a large hill at the eastern end of the lake's rocky area. Half of the hill had collapsed, resulting in a large, gaping cave mouth. As Vorador watched from his distant position, the white beasts galloped down straight into the cave and vanished from sight.

-0-

**_"After lengthy distractions I had found my quarry. The white Werewolves, allies in some way to the Druid, Bane. I would make them tell me where to find the elusive Guardian of the Pillar of Nature, but first I needed to bring the beasts to heel to extract such information."_**

-0-

He paused to study the cave for some time. Could this be the rallying place he had supposed existed? That made sense, if other types of Werewolves called his bleak and barren area home as well. Making up his mind, the Vampire slipped down the rocks and openly approached the cave entrance.

Reaching back he drew Havoc and Malice, holding the twin axes in both hands, highly anticipating the arctic variation of these beasts to come charging out of the darkness straight at him. But as he came right up to the gaping maw of the cave nothing happened at all. Not pausing for a moment, he strode into the shadows.

He was quick to discover that this was no simple hollow ditch. The cave went back some distance and it was only after he had walked all the way in and could not see the far end that Vorador realised that this was no simple cave at all, but rather a tunnel. It was a natural route, twisting and turning around rocks and boulders but was steady in a northeasterly direction. The signs of passage of the vile beasts, old and new, were everywhere. Claw marks were left in the stone walls, the air was thick with the smell of wet fur and old bones cracked underfoot.

As he proceeded down and down into the darkness and he sensed that the wolves were nowhere nearby, he slipped Malice back into its sheath across his back and used his now free hand to summon some magical light to illuminate his path. The faint glow peeled back the darkness for some distance, allowing the Vampire to see where he was going. Several smaller caverns and tunnels led off from the main passage but Vorador ignored them, following the signs left by the passage of so many creatures.

The tunnel twisted on for some considerable distance and Vorador had the feeling that these tunnels covered a vast area. So this was how the wolves were able to come and go as they chose, employing these tunnels to move undetected beneath the land itself.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, the cavernous tunnel he was following opened up into a very different passageway. The ragged rocks turned smooth and seamless, completely circular like the tunnel made by a worm passing through the earth. Vorador paused there and waited, letting his senses probe the darkness.

He suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being deliberately led down in this direction, lured into a trap. But the white Werewolves had not seen him, had they? How could they have known he was following them? Had their black furred kin relayed his presence when they had lost his trail? He put nothing past those creatures, devious and cunning as they were.

With a frown he continued on, slowing his pace and letting his considerable powers of perception push out in all directions. If this was some sort of trap, he would sense it long before the beasts even thought to spring it.

The tunnel began to angle up and the Vampire knew that he must have crossed some considerable distance. It was entirely possible that he was now under the mountains that framed the eastern edge of the sulphurous lake region he had left behind. The seamlessness of the tunnel was strange to his eye. Even when the passage curved it was smooth and unbroken, as if it had all been formed out of one solid piece. Not even the artisans of the Ancient Vampires had been capable of that.

Suddenly, however, Vorador found that the passage ended and he stood before a large door blocking the way. It fit the circumference of the tunnel, which itself was a good thirty foot radius, a dull metallic grey barrier impeding his progress. Fortunately the key to the door was readily at hand, for off to one side on the edge of the tunnel there was a lever, a pole jutting out of the wall about a meter long as if the hand intended to push it was the size of a donkey.

Disliking this situation more and more, Vorador set to work budging it. With his enhanced strength it was not overly difficult, although the hidden mechanism inside the wall was old enough to get stubbornly stuck once. When the lever was finally shifted, the door shunted backwards sharply, dislodging clouds of dust, before it rolled off to the left and out of the way.

Beyond the door was a large chamber, beyond cathedral sized in its massiveness. The light from Vorador's illumination would not even reach the ceiling of the expanse. But from what Vorador could see, the chamber had the same seamless quality as the tunnel which had led up to it. The walls seemed to curve going up and down, as if the entire colossal chamber were concave like the inside of an eggshell. From somewhere in the dark there was the sound of water cascading down and the rush of that same water over stone. Standing there, Vorador stared out at the vast and unexpected cavern chamber with a deepening frown on his face. Suddenly he remembered where he had seen this architectural variation before.

-0-

**_"I recognised this style of chamber as belonging to that strange set of ruins I had ventured through before, hidden in the cliffs of Nupraptor's lair. It seemed whatever mysterious set of beings had made those ruins had ventured here as well."_**

-0-

He had not known what to make of the first cavern he had found, discovered purely by accident. Its strange murals had been an enigma to him. Opening his hand out, palm up, he poured more energy into the illumination he was casting. The brightness increased gradually and the entire chamber began to emerge from the shadows. As it did, he saw that this chamber had great differences to the first.

He stood on the edge of a colossal circular abyss that dropped down so far that he could not see the bottom. Stretching across this deep gap was a large stone bridge wide enough for ten men to walk abreast. On either side of the bridge was a complex set of pistons and metal pillars that fed up from some deeply hidden mechanism to hold up an elaborately carved stone snake. It was very lifelike, with even the individual scales of the animal carved into the stone.

The snake at first glance looked like some corkscrew-shaped statue, the long body twisted around several times with the head at the top and the tail disappearing into the darkness below. Closer inspection, however, revealed it to be much more. The head of the snake rose up high with its mouth open, fangs arching up as if they were intending to strike. Into this, from a carved hole in the ceiling, poured a waterfall. This had been the churning and running water that he had heard in the darkness. The water travelled down the length of the stone snake, like an aqueduct, to flow from the tip of the tail into a waiting funnel just visible at the edge of the gloom.

All around the outside of the chamber were circular ledges that ringed the snake. From these the strange mechanism that held up the statue seemed to originate, feeding into platforms that jutted out at seemingly random intervals.

Vorador had only a moment to take the panorama of the cathedral-like chamber in before a snarl from the far end of the expanse got his immediate attention. Directly opposite him on the far side of the bridge was a set of stairs, leading up to another doorway. Standing in front of this doorway was the pack of white Werewolves he had been looking for. They crouched there on the steps, every single one of their number glaring straight at him as if they had been expecting him.

Before Vorador could do anything, the pack turned and bolted up the steps and through the open doorway. When the last of them was through, that one turned and looked back at the momentarily startled Vampire. The beast seemed almost to smile, showing off all its teeth, before racing through after its kin.

A moment later, both doors leading in and out of this chamber swung shut. Vorador turned sharply around, seeing too late the way he had come close shut after him. He was now sealed in this room, prevented from going forward or back. He turned again, hearing another grinding noise from directly in the centre of the chamber. The massive stone snake aqueduct was beginning to break up, pieces and segments of it coming apart as the mechanism that held it began to tug it in different directions. The snake separated into its head, several long body segments and its tail which all moved away until they were tight against the circling balconies that ringed the chamber. The mechanism performed smoothly, showing that it was a well-used machine and not some relic collecting dust.

The water was diverted from its course and was now falling uncollected down into the abyss below, a simple waterfall once more. Vorador stood there, the darkness kept clear by his single spell and glowered angrily. He was not trapped here, he saw quite quickly. The doors would open when the snake was made whole and the water put back onto its proper course. But figuring out this puzzle would be a mammoth delay and it grated on his already strained nerves savagely.

-0-

**_"Another hidden chamber and another puzzle to solve. If I was to catch the beasts I would need to solve this riddle quickly to open the way."_**

-0-


	18. 17 Snake Bite

(Only chapter 17 and already over 100 reviews. Thank you all!)

It was not difficult to deduce the nature of the puzzle and Vorador found himself irritated further by it. When the doors had closed, the snake-shaped aqueduct had separated itself into many pieces that were retracted out to the walls of the chamber. Logic suggested that if the snake were made whole once more, then the doors would open again. This was a locking puzzle similar to the one he had found in the caves of the cliffs far to the west, which had opened a door once the image of a spider had been reassembled.

Just what sort of civilisation, in an era so buried in the past it predated even the Vampire-Hylden war, had employed such strange locking mechanisms? The machinery that operated this puzzle seemed crude at first, but the simplicity of it was far more efficient than the beautifully carved and complex machines found in the ruins left by the two forgotten races. The creators of this device had opted for practicality over showiness.

Forced to explore the chamber in which he was trapped, the Vampire discovered that on the platforms ringing the outside of the chamber were several large levers resembling the one that had opened the door leading into this room. Vorador considered them for a moment. Clearly the key to restoring the shape of the snake and opening the door was to throw these switches in a certain sequence. But the sheer size of these levers suggested that the maker of this puzzle was a creature of considerable bulk.

But this had not been the first suggestion of such a conclusion. Vorador recalled with a frown that the first puzzle had been moved by pressure pads which had taken his entire bodyweight to move. Presuming the creators had interacted with that puzzle merely by laying their hand on it, their hands had to have been at least three feet across.

Time was of the essence. He could not afford to waste so much effort on this puzzle that by the time he solved it and got free, the white Werewolves had escaped pursuit. They must have sensed his hunt of them and had waited here in this chamber, sealing him inside while they got clear. Now that he was, for the moment, trapped, they would no doubt use the opportunity to escape.

He stood there, considering the levers and the seemingly simple puzzle that lay before him, trying to work out the arrangement of pistons and pillars that moved the segments of the stone snake.

"Too easy." He said to himself after a moment. But faced with no other option, the Vampire came up to the first of the levers and, setting himself against it, he forced it to one side. The mechanism it connected to gave off a reluctant shunting noise and there was the sound of clockwork gears reverberating somewhere from behind the walls. A midsection of the aqueduct began to move out from the wall and back towards its former position, although it stopped halfway, coming to a grinding halt. Clearly another switch had to be thrown in order to reposition it back correctly. While this puzzle was similar to the previous one, it was more complicated.

Vorador was about to move on to the next lever when he became aware of just how much more complicated it was. His large ears twitched as he realised that the sound of the cascading waterfall, which was no longer being collected by the aqueduct, was growing louder and louder. Glancing down over the edge of the platform he stared down into the dark abyss below. Only he saw that it was no longer dark. Water had collected at the bottom of the pit and was now steadily rising, the level coming up towards him at an alarming rate. It was a churning pool of deadly water ascending in his direction like an oncoming wall of death. He had sensed this puzzle was too easy and he ought to have perceived this coming, but he had been too distracted by his morbid contemplations to see the obvious.

If he did not solve this puzzle and reassemble the snake to cut off the water supply to the pit below, then the chamber would completely flood and he would be scorched to death. Thrown into the puzzle with more fervour and urgency, Vorador began to heave and push against the levers which his brief observation had shown him were responsible for moving the pieces he needed. One lever was stubbornly jammed and refused to budge, sticking until he forced it forward with a powerful kick in angry exasperation.

Bit by bit the snake began to reassemble itself, starting with the midsection and then running down to the tail. Each stone section of the snake fit back into place, albeit with a great deal of coordinated lever pulling. Like with the spider puzzle, some levers when pushed moved already set pieces back out of place.

It did not take the Vampire long to figure out the pattern and, gradually, the stone aqueduct began to retake its proper form. But all the while the water was rising. The water collecting in the partially reassembled snake was overflowing, continuing to feed the rising water in the chamber. The hole through which the aqueduct directed the water must have shut just as the doors into and out of this puzzle chamber had. Seeing the water close in on him, Vorador felt the first stirrings of panic. It was up to the base of the bridge which spanned the expanse of the chamber now, lapping up at him and spraying the churning foam in all directions.

Frantically, Vorador worked on completing the puzzle. The stone head was the last piece to be reset now. He had seen which levers would move it back into its proper place, but they had to be thrown in the correct order or the entire snake would pull apart again and he did not have time to reassemble it again.

He threw the first switch and even as the mechanism responded he was running across the platform to the second on the far side. When he reached it he heaved his body against its top, forcing it as hard and fast as possible to one side. The water was nearly past the point of no return, rising up nearly to the edge of the bridge.

With no time to do anything else and acting on fear-induced instinct, Vorador leapt out from the platform. He landed on the still headless snake, rolling down its twisted length and earning himself a few minor burns in the process, and then bounded out once more. He flew through the air and tumbled to a stop on the far side, right next to the lever he needed to throw. With urgency he scrambled back to his feet and slammed himself so hard into the lever that for a moment he saw stars.

With a loud grinding, the stone serpent's head swung back into place and the snake was whole once more. The waterfall was intercepted by the gaping mouth and the water began to flow down the aqueduct and into the presumably reopened hole in the bottom of the pit harmlessly. The water already discarded in the chamber, cut off from its supply, stopped rising and its surface calmed and became still almost instantly.

Vorador rose and looked out across it all for a silent moment. Then he let out the pent-up sigh of relief that he had been pretending he had not been holding.

-0-

**_"The serpent was whole once more and the water flowed freely, saving me from certain death and opening the way to the chambers beyond."_**

-0-

As he had thought, now that the flow of water was restored the two doors leading in and out of the chamber swung open. Vorador wasted no time and was through the far door as quickly as he could manage. Perhaps fearing, somewhere deep down, that the door might change its mind and swing shut again. He was somewhat enraged now at the close escape and was eager to take it out on the beasts that had lured him into that trap.

The tunnel he entered was different from the one which had brought him in. While it was the same large size and general shape, it was at a very slight slant downwards and a large rectangular grove had been cut into the floor. Through this flowed a small but steady stream of water barely an inch high. Vorador was not concerned by it, keeping his eye on the tunnel as it carried on. Once more he saw signs of the passage of large numbers of Werewolves and their feral stench was all pervasive.

He summoned forth an orb of magical light to illuminate his path once more and when he did, he discovered that the walls of this tunnel were covered in pictures.

He froze, staring up at the sudden and unexpected display of mural-like imagery. The walls were almost entirely painted, taking advantage of the concave surface to achieve beautiful images made from circular patterns that came together to reveal much more. It took him only a moment to recognise the style.

It was the same as those images from that strange, egg-shaped chamber, the ones he had seen before in the caverns near Nupraptor's Keep. Those images had revealed much about what passed for the gods of Men and more mysteries besides. These new murals were a puzzling enigma in and of themselves.

There he stood, raising his arm higher to illuminate what more he could. He turned his head around to survey it all with an expression of controlled awe on his face.

There were many images to see and most of them Vorador could not interpret at all, perhaps unique to the culture which had made them. Slowly he began to walk, keeping his gaze up on the images as the reach of the light revealed more and more of them.

One image in particular caught his eye and he slowed and then stopped to study it in more detail. It showed a strange-looking creature sitting down and glancing off towards the right. It had a pair of large wings, like those of some immense bat and one of them was spread in the direction in which it was staring. The rest of the creature was hard to distinguish as it was drawn in a squatted position with its head lowered, which made it difficult to make out the being's proportions properly. What he could see was a long, muscular tail curled around its feet, a tail that ended in what looked very much like a feathered quiff.

-0-

**_"Whatever beings these were, they were clearly very different from the known races of Human, Hylden and Vampire. They seemed to share almost none of our common traits at all."_**

-0-

Vorador glanced in the direction the drawn creature was looking, and further along from it three figures had also been depicted. One of those figures, the first in line, was clearly a Human. It was drawn naked apart from a shawl spread over its torso. Its head was lowered and arms were raised up. In its hands was some sort of tool. On closer inspection this seemed to resemble some sort of primitive shovel or plough, a tool of toiling in the earth.

The next figure along was a Hylden. Like the Human it was naked except for the most primitive clothing. It had a pair of tools in its hands as well which looked like a hammer and a chisel, the tools of a mason and those involved in construction.

The final figure was, not to his surprise, a winged Ancient Vampire. Unlike the last two, however, its clothes were more regal and it carried not a tool in its hands but rather a scroll, presented out before itself like it was receiving the item from some patron.

-0-

**_"This image was quite obscure and its meaning shrouded. Whatever these creatures were, evidently they predated the other races. Perhaps I was reading too much into the image, but there seemed to be a suggestion that the three races I was familiar with were in some way in a protectorate state to these beings, or at least in a subservient position."_**

-0-

Vorador narrowed one eye at the image. He recalled the strange, linked diagram that showed some connection between the races in the previous set of ruins. Combined with this image, it said much about the past that was revealing and unsettling at the same time.

-0-

**_"The implications of this were disturbing. Surely if these images were to be believed, Janos would have told me of it?"_**

-0-

Janos had kept secrets from him to be sure, such as what sorcery and energies had been used to enchant the Reaver after he forged it, as well as many elements of his involvement in the prophecy of the Scion of Balance. But something of this magnitude, a hidden truth that these images suggested, was just too big. Janos would never have hidden from him something this important. He would surely, at the very least, have mentioned such as these depicted creatures.

-0-

**_"Ajatar-Cadre's words came uncomfortably back to me, her statement that in the advent of the Wheel of Fate faith much of the old history and culture had been discarded or destroyed. Had that included some record of the beings in these images?"_**

-0-

Vorador contemplated that possibility with a grim frown contorting his face. The ancient war had lasted an entire millennium. If these beings had predated that, then the spreading religion of the Wheel of Fate would have had ample time to destroy all trace of these creatures from any record the Ancients might once have kept. An entire species and culture, written out of existence.

The Ancients had purposely forgotten these creatures and then had the same injustice pushed on them when their civilisation had been torn down and any lingering memory of them had been reduced to myth and legend. The irony of that stung deep.

He stared at the image for a contemplative moment longer and then carried on, following the tunnel down further. There were more pictures to be seen across the walls as he went, each one depicting strange and usual things. Everywhere there were more images of the strange creature, but not a one of them was able to reveal to him its full form. They were always depicted with their heads lowered or their wings curled. They could be nothing more than giant bats for all he could see of them here.

Abruptly he came across a door at the end of the tunnel. It appeared out of the darkness so suddenly it almost seemed to materialise from the ether. It had another opening lever next to it but unlike the other doors in this hidden place, it was not bare. Like the walls, this door also had a mural across it. The image was the most bizarre one he had seen so far and it took the Vampire a moment to merely grasp the basic concept.

Contained within the radius of a perfect circle, the image showed at its bottom a strange mountainous plateau. Surrounding the plateau were swirling lines that suggested violent winds like a hurricane or other natural vortex. Atop this cliff was a peculiar-looking structure: a pyramid segmented into flat terraces going up. From the pinnacle a large, star-like symbol was engraved, its points lancing savagely out. From this star emerged a beam of light that stretched directly up to the top of the door. At the end of this beam of light was a large circle. It was an eye, but a very strange eye unlike those of Men. It was neon blue and split down the middle by an hourglass pupil. Out from around this alien eye were several waving limbs like octopus tentacles, giving it a star or sun-like appearance. The beam from the top of the pyramid intersected the eye directly and stabbed right through it.

The image seemed nonsensical to Vorador, the mere abstract ramblings of a disturbed artist. However, the longer he stared at it the more it seemed to resonate with him. He could not help but imagine that somehow this seemingly random collection of images was important.

Setting the idea aside, he turned his attention to the large switch at the side of the door. Throwing it, he stepped forward as the door itself pulled back and then rolled to one side, revealing a thundering cascade of water. A powerful waterfall flowed down the side of a cliff face right before him and cascaded across the smooth, slimy rocks below to pour over a crevice and into the swiftly flowing expanse of an underground river. Under normal circumstances Vorador would not have even considered going near such a deadly water hazard.

However, stretching out across the waterfall was a slender stone bridge just beyond the range of the spray. It connected directly from the doorway to a protruding rock with a flat top that jutted out from the centre of the huge waterfall. On this rock, rising up a good ten feet high, was a strange, dark grey obelisk, irregularly cut as if whittled with a colossal knife. More than its appearance startled the Vampire.  
From this dark, standing stone he sensed a contained power, trapped within and waiting for release.

Vorador recognised it at once. It was the same as that strange monolith that he had found in the caverns far to the west, where he had gained the ability to assume the new form of the colossal spider.

Deliberately the Vampire started out across the bridge towards the obelisk, a strange anticipation building inside him. He almost ignored the deadly water thundering down to his left as he crossed the bridge, walking steadily until he had cleared it and came right up to the black stone.

The energy he could feel trapped inside was similar to that of the last stone he had found, although there was a subtle difference. It was as if, in some peculiar way, both examples of trapped energies were fruits with different flavours.

Vorador looked down at his hands, his brow furrowed contemplatively. He stood there for a moment, perfectly still with the waterfall thundering around him. Then he reached up slowly and deliberately placed both hands on the rippled surface of the stone.

As he had expected, the trapped energy within stirred to life in an alarmed instant. With a lurch it aroused from its enforced captivity, bursting free from its prison and down through the channel he had made for it. He stood rock solid as the energies bubbled and boiled inside him, conflicting with the knowledge and power he already carried. Then it settled down and into his mind came the wisdom that the power carried with it, filling him with new concepts.

-0-

**_"Absorbing the latent energies contained within this obelisk, taking the contained power into myself, I learned a new form."_**

-0-

The change was enacted almost by instinct. He flowed into the shape, his body compressing and stretching out. Thick, glistening scales alternating from green to gold covered his body up to a wedge-shaped head with a blunt nose. His tongue changed shape and as it flicked out, he saw it had a forked end. As having many limbs had felt alien in the form of the spider, having now none at all felt even more peculiar.

Vorador coiled up around himself, turning his long neck to look back upon his new form. He was a fine specimen of a snake. Of what species he was not sure, but he was large enough to put a python to shame, a good forty feet long and perhaps three wide. Opening his mouth, he protruded his fangs which had grown in length and were arched forward. A few drops of sickly smelling yellow liquid rolled from the tips to drip onto the rocky floor where they sizzled.

-0-

**_"The form of the serpent, while supple, quick and strong, is not suited to combat. However, it had many other benefits. In this guise I had the usage of powerful venom, the enhanced sense of taste of the forked tongue with which I would never be taken unawares and the biggest asset of all..."_**

-0-

The compulsion was so strong that Vorador was slithering forward before he had had time to rationally think about what he was doing. He slipped over the edge of the rock and fell...no...dived right down into the water. He was a foot away from the water when he suddenly realised what he was doing. But by then it was too late. He struck the surface and slipped into the water like an eel. For the first time in eons Vorador felt water around him, icy cold and smooth. There was nothing. No immediate burning, no scorching, acidic fire. Only the cool, silvery touch of the water, a sensation felt so long ago to him in the past that feeling it again was a shock.

-0-

**_"In this form, water's touch would hinder and burn me no longer, allowing me to swim to places that were once beyond my reach."_**

-0-

The realisation that he was in the water and he was not being harmed was stunning to a mind that had long accepted water as a constant hazard. So much so that Vorador almost made the mistake of turning back into his regular shape. Instinct saved him from the fatal error and his long, scaled body began to slip from side to side, sliding through the water.

It had been almost three millennia since Vorador had been Human and if he had learned to swim during that time, he had long since forgotten the skill. The instinct of the serpent that came with this form showed him the way. This streamlined, elongated body was far more efficient than the clumsy whirling of unsuited arms and legs.

Soon he was swimming down the underground river, the serpent's form easily able to navigate around dangerous jagged rocks hidden under the surface. Even the near impassable dark of the tunnel was no obstacle, for Vorador could now sense his surroundings through the vibrations of the water around him.

He navigated the river on distracted instinct for some time, still trying to silence the reinforced panic at the presence of water and his own stunned amazement at how this could even be possible. Even in a different form, his Vampiric weaknesses had still been applicable. To be able to overcome such a steadfast restriction seemed so incredible as to be ludicrous. Yet, he realised, this event was not without precedence. Raziel, that naïve blue skeleton, had told him that he himself had overcome his vulnerability to the touch of water. If that cobalt ghoul could accomplish such a feat, then so could he.

Still, the mere notion of his unlooked-for asset would take getting used to. Despite his logical reassurances to himself that he was in no danger, a part of his mind screamed in panic and logic was of little comfort.

Soon the water flow in the underground river began to increase and Vorador suspected that he was nearing the precipice of another waterfall. He swam on undeterred, the newly embedded serpent instincts combining with his knowledge of his other forms and telling him exactly what to do. He put his faith in these mingling instincts, confident that the beasts in his collection would know what they were doing.

Sure enough, a short distance away there was a large opening to the outside, thin shafts of daylight peeking through a rippling curtain of thick moss and vine. Vorador swam on towards it, faster and faster, picking up speed. The water carried him on further and faster and soon he was a speeding length of serpentine muscle.

Reaching such a speed right when he arrived at the edge of the second waterfall, his forward momentum was such that he shot clear of the falls and out into midair. For a moment he hung there, a giant length of coiled muscle in scaled skin. Then his form retracted back in on itself, his mass constricting until he returned to his normal form.

Even before he started to tumble towards the frozen ground below, he slipped into another of his forms. Sprouting black feathers and beak, he became the wide winged raven. A gust of air came up beneath his fledged wings and he soared back up high, safe from a fall to certain death.

Gliding around in midair, Vorador turned his feathered head to look back the way he had come. He was on the far side of the mountains to the east of the Lake of Sprits. To the east of his current position was an even larger body of water, a lake bordering on an inland sea. Directly south, thick clumps of tall trees clustered together in a swampy region his map had referred to as 'The Fens'. The strange ruins beneath the mountains had carried him much farther than he had thought.

Directly below was a pine forest running to the edges of the immense lake in the distance and down towards the Fens themselves, stopping at the edge of the pools of stagnant water that marked its border. Here the snow was not so deep. Most of the trees stood tall and dark green with no white topping. As such, the flying Vampire was able to spot the pack of Werewolves he had been tracking as they galloped on all fours into the natural cover.

-0-

**_"My growing collection of alternative forms served me well, for here I had found my intended quarry."_**

-0-

Narrowing his eyes, Vorador began a sharp descent towards them. He was not so foolish, however, as to dive directly on them with the twin axes blurring. They had lured him into a trap once already and they were perfectly capable of doing so again. He levelled off over the tops of the trees, his head turned on one side to watch the ground as he flew.

The Werewolves were all in a tight formation, running almost in pairs along a well-worn path between the trees. They seemed to know exactly where they were going as their path did not deviate for a single moment. They ploughed on, heading north back towards the vast tundra. Vorador began to wonder. Why would they be heading there? It was all open countryside. There would be no place for them to hide.

Suddenly, however, when he passed over a thick clump of trees and lost sight of them for a single moment, the pack vanished. At least a dozen of the galloping feral creatures, there one instant and gone the next. Alarmed at the disappearance, Vorador back-winged and circled the area in a wide arc. There was no sign of the Werewolves at all. He had been right on top of them. They could not have hidden so quickly, even if they had known he had been following them so close. It was as if they had simply vanished into thin air.

-0-

**_"Or perhaps not."_**

-0-

The Vampire circled a few more times, then settled down onto the branch of a tree and looked around. He was not foolish enough to jump down and inspect the area on foot, leaving himself prone to an ambush. These beasts would not fool him the same way twice. From his high vantage point he surveyed the ground below, watching intently for any sign of movement.

The terrain was still in the jagged lowlands of the mountain range and had several deep ravines running through it, almost obscured by thick stands of pine. High patches of jagged holly bushes covered the ground in almost every position a bush could grow. Such thick cover could hide many large creatures from casual observation and the setting sun cast long shadows. The eyes of a bird were very good, but the Werewolves were such practised ambush predators that were fully adapted to hiding themselves anywhere they wanted.

They were here, there was no doubt of that, but the raven's eyes could not see them. He ought to be able to locate them by smell, but not in the form of the bird. Birds hunted primarily by sight so their sense of smell was lacking. He needed to revert back to his normal form for this. Up in this tree he ought to be safe from any attack, at least long enough to scent out the hidden creatures.

He let himself slowly shift back to his regular shape and as his weight increased, the branch on which he was crouched began to creak. Far more than it ought to, almost to the point where it was going to break. That was the giveaway. It was a thick branch and his weight alone ought not to have been enough to make it crack. There had to be something already quite heavy on it.

When his sense of heightened smell returned the stink of wolf was so strong it stung his nose. Alarmed, he turned around sharply and glaring at him out of the darkness of the tree's shadows was a pair of feral blue eyes. His hand flashed down for the hilt of Marrow at his side but he was too late. The Werewolf crashed out of the branches with a roar, waiting for him in an excellently prepared ambush and slammed into the Vampire with tremendous force.

Tumbling together, Werewolf and Vampire fell through the branches of the tree and directly into a thick patch of holly. Stunned by the impact, Vorador rolled a short distance through the bushes until he collided heavily with the trunk of another tree. The blow left his vision blurred for a moment and his senses swam. When his sight cleared, he found that facing him was not one Werewolf, nor even the pack he had hunted, but at least fifty of the creatures all coming towards him. They had not just been running here for no reason. It was to join up with a larger force and use their numbers to overwhelm him.

By complete and utter chance he had perched in the tree of a Werewolf which had climbed up there to be the lookout for the ambush they had planned. When he had changed back to normal the lookout had sprung and knocked him into their very midst. Sometimes all the caution in the world would not prevent you from stumbling into dangerous situations. Sometimes you simply had very bad luck.

They began to circle him, trying to cut off his avenues of escape. But Vorador was not so stunned and winded that he did not recognise the tactic and act to prevent it. Reaching back he tore Havoc and Malice from their sheaths across his back and leapt sharply to the left where a beast was advancing with arms outstretched, claws coming down in a savage slash.

Vorador danced clear of the descending claws and arched himself back, the twin axes screeching through the air and cleaving through the fur and flesh. Blood spurted out to splatter over the trees and bushes and as the corpse fell, Vorador leapt through the momentary gap opened in their midst. Several of the beasts snapped and clawed at him, trying to catch him and drag him back amongst them where they could tear him to pieces.

But Vorador began to spin in that moment, his acrobatic body churning around faster and faster and becoming a swirling hazard of deadly axe blades. Most of the Werewolves had the sense to back off quickly but a few were either too inexperienced to know the danger or were simply too slow. The luckier ones only lost their reaching hands and claws and those less fortunate were hacked from crotch to gizzard.

As the large pack backed off, Vorador came out of his spin and bolted. He was not foolish enough to try and defeat so many by himself. He might be able to take ten of them, but eventually they would pile on and defeat him with sheer numbers. How ironic it was, for the hunter to now become the hunted.

Quickly he darted down into the opening of a ravine, leaping from rock to rock until he reached the bottom. He didn't stop there but kept on running, looking back over his shoulder to see the beasts gathering on the edge of the decline down. One of them, a large creature with a bleeding cut down the side of his face where Vorador had nicked him with the edge of Malice, howled in anger and bounded down. The others were quick to follow him, a racing tide of white fur.

The Vampire kept on running. There was still some chance he could salvage something from this fiasco, perhaps if he were to camouflage himself in an alternative form. Then he could pick one of this pack off and interrogate them for the information he sought.

Unfortunately, however, that hope soon turned to ash. As he came past a jagged rock covered in moss, he saw that the ravine angled down a sharp hill. Coming up that hill directly towards him were more Werewolves. They were the same black furred variety he thought he had lost back on the shore of the Lake of Spirits. They were undoubtedly the same pack. Some of them still even had the webbing from his spider form stuck in their fur.

When they saw him, their lips pulled back in snarls of hatred and as one they came on towards him.

-0-

**_"Trapped between the two packs of feral beasts, it seemed I must gird myself for a bloodletting."_**

-0-


	19. 18 The Rivalry of Wolves

Vorador began to back away from the advancing pack of angry black Werewolves but stopped, remembering with a stab of anxiety that there was no place to run. Snapping his head back he saw that coming down the ravine he had just left were the oncoming white Werewolves, the pack he had been hunting before they had turned the tables on him. He was now pinned, stuck in a narrow ravine with the black Werewolves come up and the white Werewolves coming down. Collectively there had to be well over a hundred of the beasts, more than he could hope to combat and they would come at him now in a rush. Nor was there any chance of fleeing, as he did not have time to assume the form of a raven and simply fly away. The beasts were coming in quick and all Vorador could think to do was reach for the handles of Havoc and Malice.

As he stepped to one side, looking for better ground on which to defend himself, the two packs of Werewolves looked past him and straight at each other. Both groups suddenly paused, each and every one of the beasts going perfectly still. For a single moment the world seemed to freeze in place as if it were locked in cold, silent ice.

Then that ice broke. Lips were drawn back over fangs in hideous, hate-filled snarls and suddenly the beasts were charging. The white Werewolves were closer and reached Vorador first, but incredibly they ignored the Vampire and ran past him. Seemingly forgetting he was even there, the pack ploughed with utter savagery straight into their darker furred kin. The utter brutality and savage bloodletting was ghastly. Torn fur, muscle, flesh and bone went flying in all directions in a melee of gore. Jaws tore away hunks of flesh and claws raked through hide to slice deep to the bone. Within moments five of the Werewolves lay butchered upon the ground, their corpses trampled upon by the struggling packs which still sought to add more to the dead.

Vorador hesitated in stunned awe for only a moment before his instinct for self-preservation took action to prompt him into moving.

-0-

**_"I was no fool to look a gift horse in the mouth. I did not question why these two groups of wolves chose to fight one another. I merely decided that it would be prudent for me to slip away from the scene. Let these beasts fight their civil war if they wished, so long as it gave me a chance to escape."_**

-0-

With several acrobatic bounds up the face of the rocks he was clear of the ravine and amongst the tall pine trees, away from the bloody melee. The Werewolves were separating, spreading out now. Both packs seemed to realise the folly of fighting in such a bottleneck and were choosing better battle sites to settle whatever dispute they had. Many of them scrambled out of the ravine as well and once on level ground paired off to settle their struggle in evenly matched pairs.

Vorador prudently kept a good distance, slipping into the form of an ordinary lupine to do so. In this shape he bounded through the snow easily and he was able to keep well ahead of any of the fighting beasts. The battle between these two packs was making a terrible noise. Howls of rage, hatred and pain were constantly splitting the air as well as growls and snarls and the wet slopping of torn flesh. The snow all around began to turn pink with the spilled blood being showered everywhere the two packs fought. Their constant struggle back and forth churned up the snow until the ground began to turn into a thick, muddy expanse.

Sitting on his haunches, safely hidden in the concealment of a thick patch of holly bushes, Vorador watched the brutal battle continue. The two packs were tearing into each other with a hatred that went beyond mere spite or territorial clashes. This single-minded savagery was clearly in the realm of fanatically inspired abhorrence, a conscious feud. While he was grateful to the circumstance for allowing him to escape that trap he had so foolishly blundered into, it did reveal once more that there was more to this whole mess than he knew.

The Mandarins had summoned the black Werewolves to attack him, yet it had been their clearly estranged white furred kin which had attacked William's invading army. Somehow, Vorador did not think that the white furred, alpha male Remus was under the control of the Mandarins. This apparent rivalry between one Werewolf group working for the Mandarins and one which did not seemed to confirm it. If that was the case, why had Remus directed his arctic beasts into attacking the invading army and ensuring the deaths of the royal family? All but William that is, the lone survivor ascending to the throne. Vorador had been suspicious before, now that suspicion blossomed into grim certainty.

His canine ears flicked as the sound of many people all moving together reached him and the Vampire turned. He looked out towards the northwest and coming through the forest from that direction were other figures. Unlike the fighting beasts all around him, these were Men. Their spiked leather armour identified them as natives from a distance long before he could see their facial features.

The soldiers were coming on fast, ascending the uneven rise up towards the ravines. The trees around their current position were more thickly clustered together and the holly bushes were so tall that they obscured the sight of the incomers. Vorador was quick to put such terrain to his advantage.

Quickly he morphed back to his regular form and from there into another in his growing library of alternative shapes. The giant spider scuttled forth upon its unleashing, slipping up gracefully into the branches overhead. The trees made a blanketing canopy over which he was able to traverse silently, a mere suggestion of movement in the shadows of the overlapping pine needles.

Once he found the perfect ambush spot, a crevice in a tree where two thick branches parted, he paused to wait. The soldiers kept on coming, some of them running ahead to scout the vicious skirmish going on just up ahead. The Vampire quickly counted heads. The group of soldiers numbered perhaps twenty-five or more and some of them had brought with them combat dogs. Large, furry canines with leather armour across their flanks and long serrated blades attached to either side of their muzzles. He was no rash fool to take on a force that size directly, so instead he waited patiently for an opportunity. When the force had trudged through the snow and passed him, he sprang.

Thick strands of sticky webbing lanced out and caught three stragglers bringing up the rear by the throat, wrapping around them so tightly that they could not even cry out to warn their fellows of the attack. Each one was hauled up into the branches and before they could struggle and reach for their weapons they were skilfully wrapped up in entangling cocoons of silk.

The instinct that came with this form directed Vorador to feed this way. The Humans were fortunate in that he was a spider in shape only. He did not need to inject them with digestive juices to dissolve them from the inside out. Their end came quick and easy, a simple bite to the neck and the draining away of their precious life blood.

Methodically he drained them. One by one he drew their blood from them and used it to bolster his own energies and strength. The fatigue of his journeying washed away and was replaced by enhanced vigour. Even his mind seemed to clear and everything around him began to sharpen as if coming into focus. The blood of three grown men would sustain him for quite some time.

When he was done he shifted back to his normal shape and with renewed strength leapt from branch to branch, leaving the drained corpses to rot in the webbing. His acrobatic skill served him well as he vaulted through the branches. He kept pace with the soldiers who seemed not to have noticed that they were missing three of their number. The dogs had not caught his scent, probably more occupied with the stink of Werewolf so thick in the air. Still, Vorador was not going to take any chances so he made sure he stayed downwind of them.

When the soldiers saw who was causing all of the noise, they pulled up and stopped. They formed a line and watched as the sprawling conflict of beast on beast continued. The war dogs with them all began to emit anxious whines and hunkered down into the wet earth, much to the chagrin of their handlers.

Despite the unusual sight of such a conflict, none of the Humans appeared that surprised. Most of the expressions on their faces seemed more irritated than confused, especially the annoyed frown on the face of the larger man at the front of the line. Judging by his slightly more elaborate armour he was probably their leader. The fur he had woven into his armour was thicker, probably from a bear, and had jagged spikes around the rim of a fur helmet that covered his crown.

"Do we aid the beasts, my Chief?" One of the nearby soldiers asked.

"Which ones?" Another asked in reply, his tone sardonic. Their leader shot the joker a glare.

"I would pay attention to this scene if I were you, Bataar." He said and pointed. "The beasts are the tools of the Mandarins and they appear to cut down anyone with a loose tongue that flaps against them." Sharply he turned and poked the soldier in the chest. "Be glad our homes are so far from Zwergstadar that we don't fall under their spell and lose our very souls, but never forget they can strike us down whenever they please."

The soldier took a slight step backwards.

"Yes, my Chief." He replied quickly. The Chief looked back over his shoulder at the melee and regarded the carnage for a moment. The tide had turned in the battle in favour of the black Werewolves. Their pale fellows had suffered great losses and were pulling back, some even breaking from the fight to gallop north through the snow and foliage as fast as they could.

"We were never here." The Chief said, turning to survey his soldiers. "We never saw this fight. We were all patrolling further north, on the lookout for scouts of the invaders." It was not a question and the soldiers all nodded an affirmative. "Then back to the camp!"

With that the soldiers began to depart, leaving their spectating of the battle. As they went, those in the rear took up some dropped branches to scratch out their footprints in the snow, leaving no sign of their passage. Soon they had gone and not one of them looked around for the three of them which hung dead in a wrapping of spider silk.

Vorador had long since stopped watching them, his attention fixed on the battle. By now it had decided its victor. The white Werewolves were in full retreat now, galloping in an undisciplined rout. The black Werewolves harried their pale kin a little distance but then pulled back, seemingly content to see them defeated and driven away. Those in retreat didn't even bother to keep in company, the few of their number left scattering out in a generally northwestern direction. The Vampire had his eye on one in particular. He was limping badly from a deep gash sliced through his left thigh and was lagging behind the other survivors.

Vorador was quick to move, slipping back into the now well-worn form of the spider. The arachnid scuttled across the branches, clearing distance far quicker than the injured beast could. He easily and swiftly outpaced the creature. Once he was a good way in front of it he clung to the branches and waited, the silk spinning abdomen poised.

The Werewolf lumbered on oblivious to any danger that waited for it, perhaps distracted by the painful slash on its leg. As the creature stumbled beneath him, Vorador unleashed a torrent of silk over it. The strong, sticky threads wrapped themselves around the beast and snapped tightly, pulling its arms and legs tight to its body. It cried out in pain and alarm, thrashing about wildly and in animalistic panic. But as Vorador began to weave a web around it no amount of struggling enabled it to free even a claw.

Soon it hung there suspended in the middle of a large tangling web stretched between two wide trees. Despite its struggling, the beast was held fast, unable to move in any direction. The Vampire circled the thrashing animal several times on the web to make sure there were no weak points in the restraints, then slipped down to the ground.

Assuming his regular form he turned to regard his prisoner with a flat, empty expression. Seeing him the beast snarled in anger.

"Release me, you disgusting leech!" It growled, seeming to chew on the words. Vorador lifted one eyebrow slightly, not intimidated by the display of angry savagery in the slightest.

"Answer my questions and perhaps I will." He said calmly.

The Werewolf hissed, although in pain rather than spite. The angry wound on its leg was still weeping blood. Suddenly its form quivered and began to constrict. Flesh began to recede into itself along with the long white fur. Vorador watched in some fascination as the feral form faded and Human features came forth. The bulging chest which Vorador had taken to be enlarged muscles settled into the far more familiar sight of a woman's breasts.

Her hair was long, down to her wide, childbearing hips and snow white, tangled and matted with filth and sweat. She was completely naked with her entire body on display where the tangling spider silk covered her. Perhaps she thought by transforming back to her regular shape that the restraints upon her would slacken. This proved to be incorrect, her body bound as tight as ever. Sensing this, her anger returned and she snarled and thrashed just as much as before.

"I will tell you nothing!" She spat at him in fury once her remission back to her normal form was complete. The Vampire watched her impassively, seeing that under the grime that covered her were strange, dark tribal tattoos mostly concentrated over her breasts and thighs.

"A woman?" Vorador asked as if to himself, ignoring her nakedness. She fixed him with a glare just as fierce as if she had been in her feral shape.

"Gender is not important in the midst of the pack." She said and her tone was insolent, as if she were talking to an unenlightened child. "We are all equal."

The Vampire raised an eyebrow at her.

"Under Remus?" He ventured a trifle condescendingly. She glared at him with such naked hatred that she trembled in her silk bindings.

"Under our law, laid down by Remus." She corrected and began to struggle some more but all she succeeded in doing was making herself sway in the webbing.

Vorador took a few steps forward.

"Tell me, why were you and those other Werewolves fighting one another?" He asked her. She spat at him, a glob of saliva and blood landing between his feet.

"I told you I would tell you nothing!" She snarled, cursing him with many vulgarities, most of which were in an obscure dialect and language that escaped him.

"Why did your kind attack the incoming army and murder their royal family?" He asked, undaunted by her curses. She ignored him. "Why is Remus so interested in interfering in a Human war?" He began to calmly walk forward. "Where is Bane?" She answered none of his questions and fixed him with a stare. He stood before her, within arm's reach. If he wanted, he could reach out and snap her neck with one hand. Her eyes flicked over him, noting the hilt of Marrow at his side and the deadly twin axes strapped across his back.

"If you're going to kill me, then get it over with!" She growled. "You will receive no information from me!"

Vorador was quiet for a long moment and then slowly a wide, amused grin split his mouth, showing off his fangs.

"Kill you?" He asked sardonically. "Who said anything about killing you?" His words caused a flicker of doubt and fear to pass across her face and to press that advantage he put on his best sadistic expression. It was play-acting but effective. He looked right into her suddenly shaken eyes.

"The peoples to the far west have an old legend." He began in a deceptively casual tone, still grinning. "It tells of a deceiving trickster who had the audacity to deceive God into abandoning one of his chosen. When the chicanery was discovered, God punished the trickster terribly."

With deliberate slowness he began to shift his form, making sure she could witness every moment as he elongated into the slender form of the serpent shape he had recently acquired. He rose up over her, rearing back on a long slender neck and body.

"The Trickster was bound to a rock and in the branches of a tree above him was suspended the deadliest snake in the world." He hissed, forked tongue flicking out as he spoke. The animal form was capable of forming words but the sound echoed from the depths of his long body, giving it an ominous reverberation. His long body coiled around itself, leering over her now stricken face. Slowly he let the fangs tucked into his upper jaw push out to make them the centre of her attention. "And into the unprotected eyes of the Trickster would drip its lethal venom."

It was pure theatre but he let two beads of this form's poison run down the length of his fangs and hang there, poised. The woman began to struggle in the silken restraints violently, turning her head this way and that in a desperate attempt to get clear. Vorador leaned his reptilian head in closer, the fangs now inches from her face.

"Do you feel inclined to endure the torment of God?" He rasped insidiously, forked tongue lashing at her face. The woman was clearly in a panic now, her eyes wide with horror and her skin gone almost as white as snow.

"No!" She screeched in fear. "Get away from me!" The snake kept itself close, the drops of venom falling from the ends of the fangs. It missed her by less than an inch and disappeared into the webbing.

"Where is Bane?" Vorador demanded in a flat tone, making sure his fangs were kept right in front of her face the entire time.

"On the island!" She gasped, writhing in her panic. Vorador quickly looped a coil of his body around, giving him added height to impress upon her the true size of his serpent form. While a physical threat was sometimes necessary in interrogation, a good display of superiority and power would do the trick as well.

"What island?" He asked. The woman let off a short whimper that was very canine-like despite her having reverted from her beastly other form.

"Our lair is a large island off of the northern coast, in the middle of the Jagged Gulf." She confessed and her voice was wracked with dismay for speaking. "Bane concealed the entrance to his Grove there at the alpha male's request."

Vorador considered this for a moment. While it narrowed down Bane's location it did not pinpoint him exactly. He would need to consult the map William had given him. He was sure he had seen an island to the north but it had been a landmass of some considerable size. A man could lose himself in such a place easily if he wished.

"Where on the island?" He asked her intently, slowly beginning to retract the poison dripping fangs back into his mouth.

"The Druid only lets Remus know the way in." She whined. "It is a hidden place protected by the stones."

"What stones?" Vorador pressed on, taking stock of everything she told him.

"Standing stones that were placed on the island." The woman said and then her chin dropped down onto her chest. "They somehow protect the Grove from casual intrusion. I do not understand their magic."

Vorador did not like the sound of that. He was about to ask something else when the woman cut him off.

"No more!" She growled, eyes downcast. "If you wish to torture me then do so… Fear has made me betray my pack, my family. Dying in agony is a fitting punishment."

Vorador regarded her with cold reptilian eyes for a silent few seconds and then slipped back into his regular shape.

"I think I have enough information." He replied and slowly his hand moved up until it was resting on Marrow's protruding hilt. There had been a time in his life when regrettably he had been quite a sadist and would have enjoyed carving up a bound prisoner unable to move. But he had been through a lot since then and had matured considerably. A simple thrust to the heart and death would be instantaneous.

But even then he found no attitude of dispatching her. He ought to. She was a Werewolf, one of the beasts used to tear down the civilisation of the Ancient Vampires. He ought not to show mercy to any of their breed.

-0-

**_"I should kill her right here and now but her words had struck a cord with me. Family. That was what this was all about. Had I really become so soft over the centuries that a simple word or two would stay my hand?"_**

-0-

Despite himself, Vorador recognised now that the Werewolf's notion of the pack was very similar to how he considered the link between himself, Janos and Umah. They were family, a close unit who had stood with him for centuries. Realising that, any appetite he might have had for killing this woman was gone.

He growled, disgusted with himself for such weakness and then turned. The woman looked up, confusion and disbelief written on her dirty face as he began to walk away.

"If you can free yourself before some scavenging animal comes, then you're free to go." He said without turning around. "That's the limit of my generosity for today." He left her there and marched off, not looking back to see if she managed to free herself or not. Whether she did or did not was not his concern.

Once he was out of sight, he changed into the shape of the wolf and ran off north a short distance to put some miles behind him and the scene of the lethal battle of beast on beast. After another half an hour he came to a stop on the gentle slope of a hill. There he changed back and sat down on the edge of a protruding rock.

Now at least he knew where to go. Quickly he drew out the map and studied it again, his eyes moving up to the northern coastline he had briefly seen on his flight to Weirstein. The island drawn in the middle of the gulf, despite being a large landmass, was unnamed on the map. If the scale of the diagram was correct, the island was at least as large as the Black Forest he had once called home, an expanse of dozens of miles. There was enough space there for Bane to conceal himself from any searcher. Still, it was the only clue he had to his lair.

Satisfied with his new destination, Vorador folded the map back and quickly assumed another form, sprouting feathers as he transformed into the anciently familiar shape of the raven. On the wing he soared up into the sky and catching the wind he flew forward.

The journey back north did not take as long as coming south had. Spurred on by a strong wind and fuelled by the blood he had taken in surplus, the Vampire achieved a good speed and cleared ground very quickly. The tundra rolled away beneath him and by the time the cliffs on which Weirstein stood became visible again, the stars were rolling out in the coming of the black of night.

Vorador cast a glance down towards the area as he soared on high. The encampment surrounding the city was gone now and the gates of the settlement closed shut. Banners of the Northern Kingdom hung from its walls to show the allegiance of the garrison troops.

Off to the east, moving in a long column of men up into the highlands beyond the cliffs was the main bulk of the invading army. They were distant now, a smudge in the haze. But even so Vorador could see the marching mass of armed Humanity and hear the thudding of so many moving feet.

-0-

**_"William's army marched on to the east in furtherance of their war. I had no further reason to help him with his campaign. Perhaps he would even succeed in conquering this realm. Perhaps I would find his head on a spike in a month's time. Either way would be fine by me."_**

-0-

Dismissive, Vorador carried on, flying past it all for another half hour until the frozen shore came into sight. Then he began to slowly glide, dropping lower until he alighted gently on the edge of the water. There he assumed his own shape again and looked out to the horizon. Icebergs of various sizes, some even seeming to give off a faint greenish light floated in the water, giving the expanse an alien look. But beyond them was a darker, wide shape which was almost lost in the dark of the night.

Vorador pressed his lips together, seeing that the map's scale had been right. The island was as large as portrayed. Perhaps the underground tunnels extended all the way there and the white Werewolves used them to get back and forth from the isolated place.

The Vampire then nodded and spread his arms out in preparation to change back into a bird. However, he paused as a new thought came to him.

-0-

**_"While it would be easier to fly across the distance on the wings of a raven, I would run the risk of being seen and perhaps discovered. I did not want to give the Druid any time to prepare for my arrival."_**

-0-

Surely Bane would have set some sort of ward to warn him against approaching danger. The Druid seemed eccentric but hardly a fool. If he were sensed oncoming in the form of a fragile bird, he would be left vulnerable to a possible pre-emptive strike.

Vorador paused to reconsider his approach. He would need to reach the island with the utmost stealth but at the same time in a form that was powerful enough to defend itself. The answer was quite simple.

-0-

**_"The safest solution was before me. A swim across open water in the form of the snake."_**

-0-

Grimly Vorador looked out at the amount of water between himself and the far shore. He had been close to panic when dumped into the underground river. Now he was contemplating a swim across open, arctic cold water. Hardly a comfortable prospect.

Still, it was the best alternative to a dangerous direct flight. Letting out a reluctant sigh, Vorador called forth his newest form and once he was in the shape of the serpent, he glided into the water.


	20. 19 Heart of the Pack

Swimming across open water was one of the last things Vorador ever suspected he would do, whatever form he happened to take while doing it. The panic of having so much of the once deadly substance all around him was so acute that it took all his willpower not to translocate himself away on instinct alone.

The elongated body of the serpent was suited for navigation through the water, slipping from side to side. Such motion was far superior to the up and down motion of mammals in the water and he found himself clearing distance much quicker than expected. The island that was his destination began to increase in definition and size as he approached.

Through gaps in the gently drifting tide of icebergs he could see large cliffs of dark granite topped with snow covered pines. While the foliage seemed similar to that of the mainland, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding, as if he were looking at the precipice of a different world where he was not welcome. Still he pressed on, if for no other reason than to be clear of the water.

The island was almost all cliffs to the south and to the west the gravel bank was too steep to climb. To the east, however, the land was gradually sloping and had a proper beach. Driftwood was piled up high along the water's edge at the high tide mark and behind these, Vorador surfaced.

He coiled himself into a ball and waited, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air around him. While the salt from the seawater was strong, it did not hide the lingering tang of the Werewolves. There was no doubt now that this was indeed their lair. However, it remained to be seen if Bane himself was here amongst them.

He sensed no movement in his immediate area except the trees waving in the strong wind off the sea and quickly he flowed back into his regular form. He kept himself low, not willing to give himself away to any sentries. Making sure he was covered by at least one piece of obscuring terrain at all times, he made his way up from the dirty beach and into the tree line. There he had more than enough cover as growing all around the pine trees was a thick ocean of tall grass and large clumps of a peculiar, angry looking bush with needles instead of leaves. He could not identify its species at all but he knew enough about botany to know that with isolated spots, the local flora would develop its own peculiarities.

As the island was so far north, the icebergs around its shores were a permanent orbiting barrier against encroachment by outsiders. Such ice had also begun to build up in various spots where the water from the sea collected and then froze, leaving spires of ice jutting up from random locations.

-0-

**_"This island was a choked maze of winter forest, arctic foliage and permanent ice. The perfect home hunting ground for a Werewolf pack._****_ If I wished to survive this environment I ought to remember that._****_"_**

-0-

As much as the geography and the local plant life were fascinating, Vorador reminded him quite sternly that he had a task to perform here and only so much leeway to get it done. He would not be able to hide his presence on the island forever, assuming that the Werewolves did not already know he was here.

Gently he began to push out with his senses, feeling with his heightened perception. He made his search very subtle for there was no telling what sorts of triggers Bane had set in place to warn of intruders, assuming he was here.

The response was a peculiar one that puzzled him. It felt as if his senses were pushing against a barrier made of paper. It bent but it did not break. Like oil on water, his senses could ripple across the surface of the barrier but not penetrate. Such a barrier was all around him and it prevented his senses from getting a firm hold on anything that might reveal the barrier's nature or what it was trying to conceal.

-0-

**_"There were forces at work on this island, a latent magical energy that subtly hung beyond the periphery of my senses. I knew it was there, could almost taste it, but it remained beyond my skill to feel it out. Whatever power lurked here, it was preventing me from finding Bane's lair. That in and of itself revealed to me that the Druid was indeed here somewhere. All that I needed to do now was pierce the glamour that concealed him._****_ The question now was exactly how to do that._****_"_**

-0-

Faced with no other option, Vorador began to sneak on through the underbrush. The only way now to find Bane's lair was to locate it by sight. The sheer size of the island hampered that effort considerably. The interior of the island was a maze of rising hills, steep valleys and hidden wooded copses. There were a few paths going here and there but they seemed to be wandering tracks left by wild game. There was no sign of Human habitation at all.

That abruptly changed when Vorador came to the edge of a cliff and looked out across a valley that stretched below. The trees in this open space had been felled to produce a small grazing field where a flock of sheep with thick white wool were milling about. Vorador paused to observe, certain that they were not wild sheep but farm animals. Then he saw the herd's keeper. Sitting on top of a rock nearby and watching the herd with unblinking disinterest was a white Werewolf.

The beast was just sat there with its tail swishing out behind it in a bored sort of way. It didn't even seem as if it was watching the sheep. The creature had the posture of one who was daydreaming about somewhere else he'd rather be. The sheep themselves didn't seem that bothered by its presence either, happily grazing on the long grass and some even coming within arm's reach of the creature. They did not seem to care that it could reach over and grab them for a meal, nor did it try to when they did.

The idea of a Werewolf playing the shepherd was somehow vastly amusing and frighteningly disturbing at the same time. Vorador did not like having his comfortable view of the Werewolves as little more than savage, untamed and uncivilised brutes challenged like this. It left him feeling unsure of a lot of things.

Further exploration of the island's many valleys and hidden places revealed similar scenes. The Werewolves were everywhere and were all engaged in herding small groups of sheep. Vorador had to have passed by over half a dozen such examples of corralling. Practically, he supposed, keeping a breeding population of animals that provided both meat and wool made sense in this northern, frozen climate. The beasts were primarily hunters but if they wished to sustain a large social group they would need a regular and reliable food source to fall back on. Werewolves were very much like Vampires in their dietary needs. They needed bloody flesh in order to survive and could live on that alone, permitting them to live in places where planted crops would not grow.

Soon he began to sight evidence of permanent habitation. This did not come in the form of crude shelters that he would expect from the beasts, but rather log huts built within circles of thick trees to protect them from the worst of the arctic wind. At first there were only a few small huts dotted here and there, but soon Vorador began to sight larger log buildings that bordered on the size of a proper mead hall. They all had high, towering thatched roofs to prevent the snow from building up on a stable surface. The thick wooden doorframes were all elaborately carved with curving rune-like patterns so deeply into the wood that no knife had made them.

For a brief moment Vorador wondered if Humans lived here as well, but he was disabused of that notion when he saw one of the white beasts trudging up a slope towards the largest building he had seen so far. Once it got to the doorway, it paused to shake the snow out of its fur before its form shrank in on itself and it returned to Human shape. Now in the form of a naked man, the beast knocked on the closed door. The door was immediately opened and the creature was offered warm woollen clothes as soon as he was allowed inside.

"How cosy." Vorador muttered darkly to himself, standing outside knee deep in thick snow. So it would seem that despite their nature the Werewolves lived well. It would even be fair to say they were thriving. Somehow it seemed vastly unfair that Mankind would go to the ends of the earth to hunt down and destroy his people when these dogs could live in forgotten comfort.

Suddenly, however, the Vampire was brought out of his dark brooding by an ear-splitting howl that broke the silence. Turning about sharply, Vorador saw a shape standing on top of the broken hillside to the southwest. Through the trees he could just make the figure out. It was another Werewolf but this one he had seen before and knew all too well. It was the warped and deformed shape of Remus, the so-called alpha male who had savagely killed William's father outside of Weirstein. He was too distant to see him clearly but his distinctly huge, half-formed shape was easy to recognise even this far away. The creature towered up and howled again, this time louder and more insistent. The call echoed several times through the many narrow valleys and close-set hills of the island.

Almost immediately the door to the log hut burst open and several large men in woolly clothes came running out. As one they looked up at the distant figure of Remus on the hill. Then after a moment they began quickly shedding their clothes. Once they were naked they burst out of their Human shapes and became the beasts they really were. One by one they howled in response to their alpha male, echoing his call. Then they galloped on all fours down the rise away from the building and into the wilderness and out of sight.

Vorador watched them go with a grim frown marring his face. There could only be one explanation for all of that. Somehow his presence had been detected and Remus was marshalling his pack to search for him. No doubt many more of the beasts would have heard that howl and would now be searching the island for him. They would be searching for him with sight and smell and would tear him to pieces when they found him.

There was, however, one thing he could do to confuse them. With an evil smirk he slipped himself into the more than familiar form of the ordinary wolf, one of his earliest alternative shapes. In this form he would not smell like an intruder, but rather like a regular animal. As such, in this form he could continue with his search unmolested.

Padding through the high foliage, Vorador moved on but always made sure to keep himself well aware of his surroundings at all times. The Werewolves as he suspected were out in force, dozens of them scouring the wilderness in small hunting packs. If any of them saw him they never looked twice at him.

For the next few hours Vorador kept in the guise of the wolf, keeping deliberately out of the way of the creatures that searched for him. He went back and forth, crisscrossing the island trying to physically search all of it in search of Bane's lair. The sun was beginning to rise distantly by the time he was forced to admit that this was hopeless. He had seen nothing to even hint of a concealed entrance anywhere and the strange enveloping barrier kept him from sensing any that might be hidden magically.

He was just considering a change of tactics when he came over a rise and saw in the wide valley below a collection of log buildings, about two dozen huts of varying sizes all arranged in a circle with a surrounding log wall protecting them. Smoke was gently rising from the crude shale chimneys. Off to one side of the village up against the wall was a larger building with overhangs to make pens, in which several lowing milk cows were tied up and feeding from a trough. Nearby, ungainly pigs were in a smaller enclosure filled with churned snow to make thick mud.

Vorador's attention, however, was drawn to the three standing stones set into the centre of the village where all the buildings branched out from. They were a trio of strange obelisks that tapered to a dangerously sharp point. Staring at them, Vorador could feel a strange sort of subtle resonance coming from their direction. It was a peculiar sensation that seemed very similar to the cloaking sensory barrier that shrouded the island. Clearly it was somehow significant and worthy of investigation.

Keeping his body low to the ground so not to be seen, the Vampire began to slowly and cautiously approach the village. As he had expected, he immediately began seeing men in woollen clothes working around the buildings. Even before he smelled them he knew they were not Men at all but rather Werewolves in Human shape. Two men were standing near a large pile of chopped logs, axes leaning off to one side. Chips from the chopping were scattered everywhere, as if they had only just finished their work. One of them had a thick beard and the other had a long ponytail braided behind him. Both of them were looking up and out at the tree line to the south. Another man with a smaller trimmed beard was just coming out of the village's open gate, his gaze fixed up on the horizon. He stopped a short distance away and paused, a frown creasing his face. Then he turned and looked at the two other men. Now that he was up close and could see them more clearly, Vorador could see that despite their varying ages all the men had snow white hair, even the youngest of them who could not be older than twenty-three. Another point of similarity was that they all had swirling wood-like markings over their faces and whatever parts of their bodies could be seen under their woollen garments.

"Remus sent out the call?" The one with the small beard asked.

"Didn't you hear him?" The big bearded one replied, not looking over.

"I couldn't clearly. I was busy milking the cows." The first replied to that in a sullen tone. The man with the long hair laughed coarsely and slapped his knee.

"More likely you were too busy ploughing Duckett's daughter, that pretty girl who fetches the milk for churning!" He grinned and showed over enlarged canines, almost like a Vampire's.

"Bet she was churning something alright!" The man with the large beard added, nudging his companion in the ribs. The other laughed even harder at the crude joke. The newcomer did not look all that impressed with their mirth.

"Are you going to make jokes or tell me what the call was about?" He asked flatly. The younger, long haired man shrugged in response.

"Can't tell, the howl was just to tell everyone to transform and be on the lookout." He said and without any warning at all began to strip, pulling off his woollen fleece. The two men looked at him and then began to peel off their own clothes.

"Trouble?" The man with the short beard asked as he removed his boots. "An intruder maybe?"

"Maybe and I'm not arguing with the alpha male about it." The one with the large beard replied, now naked before the elements and the other men without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Turning he picked up his discarded clothes and placed them in a basket that Vorador hadn't even noticed. The other men did the same.

"Just sprout fur and keep it on until you're told otherwise." He remarked and with that his form began to expand, muscles rippling under skin that sprouted white fur. Together he and his two companions became Werewolves right before Vorador's eyes. Once in their alternate form they began back into the village, one of them pausing long enough to pick up the basket full of clothes and carry it back in with them.

Vorador paused and watched them go, down on his haunches in the concealing foliage. The whole surreal scene had left him with a mixture of emotions that he did not like at all.

-0-

**_"A community of the Werewolves, living like any other human settlement until they chose to assume the bestial form? What a perverse idea."_**

-0-

It would be safe to assume that everyone in this village was one of the beasts, and given the number of buildings the settlement could house over a hundred inhabitants. The most logical course of action would be to employ stealth to get inside, rather than try to fight through a small army of Werewolves. However, Vorador doubted that even Werewolves would allow a fully grown wolf to simply prance into their home, especially if they had livestock to defend. He would need an unobtrusive form that would not attract attention and allowed for a quick getaway in the event of discovery. The choice of the form of the raven was obvious for the raven had all these desired qualities and perks.

Slinking back into the long grass to ensure he would not be seen, Vorador changed back into his regular form. That was necessary to do as he could not go directly from one alternative form to another. However, he made one terrible mistake. He forgot to check which way the wind was blowing when he changed so when he assumed his normal shape, a gust blew directly across him and across the village. Every Werewolf in the village was downwind of him. Even as it happened Vorador realised his blunder and froze in shock.

A moment later there were dozens of startled snarls and angry growls as the Werewolves' excellent sense of smell picked him up. Despite the deadly consequence, it was still a simple mistake to make. The Vampire bit his lip hard in frustration with himself for not having considered that.

"What's that smell!?" A growling voice asked from within the walls of the village, growing louder as its owner approached.

"A Vampire!" Another deep snarl replied, tinged with anger and contempt. "I have smelt that stench before!" The Werewolves were coming now, moving towards the main gate leading into their village.

There was nothing else for it now. It was too late to attempt to change form to evade being discovered. There was simply no time to change without them noticing. Grimly he reached back and took hold of the handles of Havoc and Malice. Drawing the twin axes, he deliberately stepped out from his concealment and strode to the entrance of the village. He got there before they did and stood in their path, the axes at either side in each hand.

There were fewer Werewolves in the pack that greeted him than he had imagined. His quick count revealed no more than twenty. Perhaps the others who called this village home were already out searching the island for him.

The white Werewolf in front of the pack paused at seeing him, then lowered its head and drew back its lips in a snarl revealing its sharp teeth.

"You!" It spat, chewing on the word in its canine mouth. "How did you find us?!" The other beasts were all looking at him now. A few snarled at him but the others just looked startled.

"I'm here for Bane." Vorador replied as flatly as possible despite the tension he was feeling. "I know he's close. Tell me how to find him and I'll be on my way." Even as he made the offer he knew it was fruitless and he had no real expectation of it being accepted. He was, however, quick to note that at least two of the Werewolves, perhaps younger ones, turned to look back at the three standing stones in the centre of their village in response to his words. A larger beast growled at them and they quickly turned back. The edge of Vorador's mouth turned up slightly. That was the last bit of confirmation he needed to tell him that the stones were indeed significant.

"We will tell you nothing!" The Werewolf in the lead gnashed at him. "This is our home. You come here uninvited and the alpha male has ordered your death."

"True." Vorador conceded. "And it will remain your decision whether blood is spilt on your home. That will be your burden, not mine." He made his tone as insulting as possible. He knew their charge was inevitable but he wanted it to come when he was prepared for it. Hissing and snarling, several of the white Werewolves came at him in a rush.

Vorador acted instantly, racing to meet them as if he intended to engage close up. Instead he dived and ducked into a roll, tumbling through the legs of one of the beasts. As he rolled past, he brought the axes around in a cruel sweep and severed its feet halfway up the calves. The screaming creature stumbled backwards with blood spurting from the ends of its dismembered stumps. Vorador silenced its pained cries instantly when Havoc came down and smashed its head in.

A second Werewolf came at him again, reaching up with its clawed hands in an attempt to cleave his face off. Vorador slapped its paws aside with a backhand and brought both axes up sharply and with considerable strength, causing its ribcage to come swinging open in a spray of bloody gore that cascaded over the snow in a wave. The body was lifted off the ground by the impact, emptying its contents of internal organs before landing with a crunch of the few remaining ribs cracking.

Vorador danced back as several of the beasts lunged at him at once, claws and snapping jaws raking the air where he had just been. They came at him over and over, some even leaping over their fellows in an attempt to claw him down. By now, however, Vorador had gained some experience in fighting the creatures and knew how they liked to fight. Their arms and mouths were their greatest weapons and as such they were built rather top heavy to take advantage of that, making their lower halves their weak point.

When they came at him, Vorador ducked low and brought the axes up in sweeping arcs that opened up their bodies to spill their blood over the snow. However, he dared not use the cyclone technique for which these axes were so well-known here. The ground was too slippery for that and there were too many wooden buildings around to get in the way.

Despite his advantage in skill and tactics, the Werewolves knew how to use their own advantage in numbers and were pressing him hard. He had been forced to retreat further and further into the depths of the village, which he supposed was their plan. They would keep him trapped here until more of their kind could be called to overwhelm him.

That being the case he was just going to have to kill these beasts and then translocate himself away before the others could turn up. His left ear twitched and sharply he turned in that direction, just in time to see one of the creatures come hurtling out of the shadows between two log huts. It had lurked there completely out of sight and then lunged when it had had the opportunity. It moved too quickly for Vorador to bring up the axes to defend himself, so instead he grappled across its midsection and rolled with it across the ground. Easily he got his feet under it and with a mighty heave he tossed it back off of him. The beast, startled at being so easily thrown, spun through the air until it crashed into the door of a hut, breaking it on impact and vanishing inside with a loud crash.

Vorador was back on his feet instantly for two more creatures were circling him, preparing to attack from opposite ends. The Vampire had seen that tactic used before and pre-empted them by lunging at the beast on his right. He was fast enough to catch it in the throat with Malice's edge, slicing into its wind pipe and letting it gargle for breath around the axe lodged there.

The Werewolf on his other side took the opportunity to attack him while his back was supposedly turned. Vorador, however, was quicker than the beast imagined, letting go of Malice and then grasping Havoc in both hands. With that added strength and speed, the Vampire swung the single axe around so hard that it dug deep into the flesh of the onrushing monster. The axe sliced so deep that the stomach was cleaved in two. The entire digestive system collapsed out in a bloody mess. Vorador was no longer so cruel as to let the creature suffer from such a fatal and painful injury and so to end its pain he caved in its head with two more sharp blows.

Quickly he retrieved Malice and turned to face the other creatures. He had reduced their numbers now. He counted fifteen amongst their living and most of them had wounds on them in various places. The eviscerated corpses of the fallen lay scattered around.

The sense of accomplishment faded when the air rang out with a howl. It came from far off but it was echoed by dozens more almost immediately, the sound of a full hunting pack. One of the Werewolves in front of him sneered.

"Remus is coming for you." It said and began forward again, the others following and spreading out in an arch.

Vorador took a step or two backward. The fight had carried him into the centre of the village itself now, a trail of blood and gore leading from the battlefield through the churned snow to the gate where he had entered. Quickly he half turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. Looming over him were the three stone obelisks. Now that he was closer he could see they were engraved with markings, but not runes or another other type of primitive script. The markers seemed very much like twisting vines with leaves branching off at regular intervals. The sense of resonance from each of them was as strong as ever.

His attention was called back to the struggle when one of the beasts leapt at him with arms outstretched. The Vampire ducked low to avoid the oncoming claws and gaping maw. Arching his body to get under the creature as it sailed overhead, Vorador brought Malice up and slammed the blade edge into the Werewolf's groin. The impact bit through the pelvis and dragged the axe into the guts before Vorador yanked it free. The fatally wounded creature crashed into the snow and lay still, turning everything around it scarlet.

He then spun, hefting the axes around in a powerful arc even before he had finished righting himself. The Werewolf that had been attempting to catch him from behind was met by the two screaming axe blades trailing blood and pieces of entrails. Havoc sliced off its left arm and dug deep into its chest right down to the heart while Malice sliced its head clean off. The Vampire kicked the body free from his weapon. The corpse tumbled a short distance before it landed at the foot of one of the stone obelisks. Blood from the spurting neck stump splattered all over the stone.

As it did, however, the resonance from the stone seemed to expand and constrict. The ripple of energies Vorador sensed responded to the impact like those on the surface of water, spreading out in all directions. Startled, he turned back to look. The blood he saw on the stones was being drawn inside, absorbed like water into a sponge.

-0-

**_"As the stones fed on the blood of the slain, I felt the mystic force over the island respond and ebb, as if a key had turned in a lock. The sensation was a momentary flare only but it suggested a course of action."_**

-0-

Slowly he turned back to look at the Werewolves around him. He was silent a moment, his face passive and calm. Then a small smile made his mouth curl.

He changed his tactics. Instead of waiting for them to make the first move, he lunged at them. Havoc and Malice cleaved through the Werewolves that tried to stand in his way. Each time he dealt a fatal wound to one of the beasts, he would grab the faltering creature by its scruff and toss it through the air back towards the obelisks. Methodically he smashed the bodies of the wolves into the stones and with each offering of leaking blood, their resonance reacted and amplified. The barrier he could sense over the island was beginning to ebb in this place, weakening and fading. The more blood the stones absorbed the more the barrier faded. Vorador was even beginning to get hints of what lay beyond that barrier now, flashes of insight that leapt across and were gone just as quickly.

Smashing the head of the last beast in with Malice, Vorador dragged its still twitching body by the back of its neck and then smeared its crushed and bleeding, fragmented skull into each of the stones one by one. This apparently was enough to push them over the edge.

The markings on each of the stones began to emit a pale green luminescence, highlighting the vine-like pattern they made. Vorador took a prudent step back to observe, sensing the barrier rip finally. As it did, the image of the vine pattern began to peel off the stones which had played host to them as if they were simply sticky paper. Glowing brightly they twisted into the air, curving around each other and looping over and over. Finally their twisting came to a stop and they snapped tightly together. By now they had formed a perfect circle that hung suspended between the three standing stones. In the centre of this circle was a hazy, nebulous mist that only thinly obscured the sight of a dark tunnel opening. It was a gateway, concealed by powerful magic that had only just now been penetrated.

Vorador stared at the opening for a long moment. Then he slid Havoc and Malice back into place on his back and started forward.

-0-

**_"Its peculiar blood lust sated the stones parted the energies that concealed the druid's lair. The way to Bane was open. But cautiousness ought still be observed. For now I would enter through the looking glass."_**

-0-


	21. 20 Bane's Grove

Vorador had seen and used gates that bent space to allow instantaneous travel between one distant place and another before. The Ancient Vampires had employed such gates in order to traverse their far flung settlements without the inconvenience of physically travelling the distance. This was not at all like them. Passing through the gateway opened up by those weird stones felt like he was moving through a tunnel made of densely enveloping foliage, closing in tighter and tighter around him the further he went. Darkness shrouded him on all sides and his vision was obscured by a thick, soupy mist. Out of the shadows whispers began to echo. Small, indistinct voices speaking in no language he could understand.

Grimly the Vampire pressed on, ignoring the growing feeling of dangerous and lurking menace. He could easily endure such feelings. On and on he went. The tunnel seemed never-ending and yet he had the sensation of not having moved at all. The echoing whispers began to build into a high pitched crescendo of noise that assaulted his ears mercilessly. Just when he thought he could go on no longer, the tunnel abruptly ended and without warning he found himself standing on a pleasant, grassy knoll in the middle of an eldritch clearing.

All around him was a surreal environment. Tall trees loomed high above and all around, all different kinds with lush green leaves. Long grass up to his knees ran in a carpet over knolls and small hillocks, occasionally dotted with wild flowers of a variety Vorador could not identify. There was no hint of the winter he had left behind here. This place seemed to be in the height of the new growth of spring.

But that was not what immediately grabbed his attention. Everything all around him, the grass, the trees, rocks and flowers and even the air itself seemed to have a faint purplish hue. It looked very much as if a violet lens had been placed over his field of vision. He looked up. Through the gaps in the trees he could see the sky and that was even stranger. It was a luminous green and the sun itself was pale blue, casting off strange glowing flares at regular intervals. These conflicting, unnatural colours lent the place a fairy tale quality, an eldritch otherworldliness that made the Vampire wonder if he was even still in Nosgoth.

Slowly Vorador let his senses push out, trying to determine the nature of this unusual place. But he found his senses would not obey. It was as if they had nothing to feel here, everything around him a mere illusion which he could not detect. Slowly he reached out and placed a hand on the side of a tree. No illusion, it was quite real. Evidently there was an even stronger magic at work here that dampened extrasensory perception. If he wanted to explore this weird place, it would have to be with his eyes and ears. Still, he was now certain of where he was.

-0-

**_"The Druid's grove lay before me, a place where nature was enhanced and there was no sign that Man had ever intruded. Powerful forces lay at rest in this place. I must be careful not to wake them."_**

-0-

Prudently walking slowly, he began forward, passing through the trees and underbrush. Soon he came across what appeared to be a game path and as the land in this place seemed to naturally curve that way, he followed it. There were signs of the passage of animal life everywhere. Footprints, droppings, even some fur caught in branches but at no time did he actually see any animals themselves. This place was a sanctuary for wild beasts but the beasts were absent. That somehow made this Druid's lair strangely ominous.

Following the path, Vorador began to pass by large standing stones, very similar to the three which had opened his way to this place although engraved with different symbols. Most he could not understand but there were one or two similar patterns. He recognised northern runes and western braids as well as a few symbols that were clearly of Ancient Vampire origin. The standing stones followed the path on either side and Vorador kept going in this direction, confident now he was on the right track.

Coming up over a rise, he saw that the trees opened up into an even larger clearing. Here the ground was even up to the centre where it rose gently in a small hill. Atop this hill were five standing stones set at the corners of a pentagon around its perimeter. In the centre of this was a large stone altar, squared crudely and decorated with crude pictograms drawn with the most primitive of paints. Upon this altar was a large bronze bowl, a pillar of greenish smoke rising gently from it. Standing before this, gazing into the depths of the fumes was the Druid Bane.

The Guardian of the Pillar of Nature had his back to the Vampire but Vorador knew him instantly. He wore the same white cured furs and deer headdress with antlers, a unique outfit.

From pouches at his waist the Druid was bringing out strange substances and grinding them between his hands before letting them fall into the bowl. As each new ingredient fell in the volume of smoke would increase. He was muttering something in a low voice, a steady stream of unintelligible whispers passing his lips each time he dropped something into the bowl.

After a moment the Druid drew a short bladed dagger from his belt and with an almost casual air drew its point across his thumb. Blood welled up and he allowed drops of it to fall into the bowl. There was a flash like igniting phosphorus and a faint glow began to emanate from within.

Vorador watched him for a long moment, considering the situation and then he began to approach. He made no attempt to conceal his coming and perhaps the Druid heard the sound he made, passing through the long grass.

"I do not desire company, especially not in my grove." He said flatly and with disinterest, without so much as turning around. Reaching down he picked up a metal ladle from the top of the altar and used it to stir whatever was in the bowl. The smoke coming from its depths flickered as if lit from underneath and changed from green to red. The inner light from the bowl cast itself onto the backdrop of dark smoke, conjuring twisting and strange images in the play of light and shadow. "Go away and tell your pack leader that I permit visitors only when I summon them first." Clearly he did not know exactly who his unexpected visitor was, thinking the Vampire one of the Werewolves. Apparently he was far too distracted by his arcane work to even turn around and look.

Smiling, Vorador walked up to the bottom of the hill and stopped. He rested one hand on the hilt of Marrow at his side. Speed would be best should the Druid prove violent.

"That's just too bad, Bane." The Vampire remarked. The Druid stiffened at the sound of his voice and whirled around, his eyes bright with alarm and dismay as they settled on the Vampire.

"You!" He spluttered. Lashing out his hand he snatched up the staff he had left leaning against the side of the stone altar. Grasping it tightly he held it forth, the pearl in the grasp of its gnarled wood flickering to life with its innate power.

"How did you find me!? How did you get in here?!" He demanded, bristling with barley repressed anger. Vorador stood there with an unimpressed expression on his face. He was quite confident that if the Guardian tried anything he could close the distance.

"That's not important, Druid." The Vampire said. "I have questions about your work." Bane was hardly willing to share his research, as was expected. Snarling and spitting he kept the staff pointed up at Vorador but took a step backwards.

"Did Nupraptor, that lying Mentalist, send you?" He asked with heavy contempt, eyes narrowed in paranoid suspicion. Vorador snorted dismissively.

"I answer to no one. I'm here for my own reasons." He replied. The Druid was not mollified by this at all. He raised his staff higher, as if he were wielding a club. He looked almost ridiculous for one of the supposed Guardians of the Circle.

"Whatever they are, you are not welcome here, murderer!" The man declared vehemently, his braided beard twitching in his fury. "Take your stinking carcass out of my grove!"

"I come and go when I please." Vorador told him flatly. As if to emphasis that point he took a few steps up the hill completely unchallenged. By the contorted expressions of rage, fear and apprehension on his face, Bane looked like he might want to prevent the approach but he did nothing to effect it. He seemed frozen by the surprise of the situation, finding a Vampire entering his supposedly safe harbour. "You didn't answer my question before." Vorador continued inexorably, fixing the alarmed Druid with an unblinking, firm stare. "I want to know where to find the Lost City and the Celestial Arrow. Clearly you know something about the fabled place, certainly more than your Guardian peers."

There was a moment of tense silence between them. The Druid kept his staff with its mystic pearl high and out before him defensively, his eyes fixed on Vorador and narrowing more and more in suspicious alarm. His anxiety was palpable and Vorador sensed that if provoked, the man would attempt to flee rather than fight.

"And if I do what of it?" Bane snapped back when the moment passed. "It's my research, my project!" He sounded almost infantile about it, as he was being asked to give up his favourite toy. Vorador's estimation of the man decreased dramatically. "And if I don't let my fellow Guardians in on my work, I'm certainly not inclined to allow a filthy Vampire to do so!" He added somewhat spitefully. Vorador levelled his gaze and let his face settle into grim lines.

"I have no interest in whatever you think you're doing." He said calmly, in counterpart to Bane's hysteria. Most of it, however, was a cover. Vorador's anger bubbled under the surface, for the moment under control but Bane's words had caused a stir. "I merely need to find the City and the weapon it hides."

The Druid snarled, displaying his teeth, but finally began to straighten, his body relaxing out of its tense stance. Slowly the staff lowered until its point rested on the ground.

"That place is evil." He said with firm conviction, eyes flashing. "It is the source of a great and terrible corruption." He sneered. "So I am not at all surprised it attracts the likes of you." Vorador merely raised an eyebrow to this.

"You mean the Celestial Arrow?" He asked rhetorically. Bane rolled his eyes and looked up to the alien emerald sky of his small pocket world.

"The God slaying weapon of dark and detestable legend." He muttered with heavy contempt and shook his head. "What a joke." He looked back down and spat off to one side as if he had tasted something unpleasant. "No such thing truly exists; the mere idea is an affront to all that is decent in the world." Then his expression turned even sourer. "But I would expect nothing less from the creators of that despicable city."

He half turned and gestured over the bowl he had been looking over before Vorador's arrival. The light from within the bowl was casting a very strange image in the smoke. There seemed to be the vague outline of man, arms and legs at his side. Surrounding the figure was an eerie glow that pulsed like the beating of a heart. Seeing this Bane growled almost like a cornered animal.

"They were an ancient brood of vileness whose evil spreads forth from the depths of antiquity to sully the present." He said, still looking at the image. "It is their mere touch which has corrupted Mankind. Their taint is even in my own self."

Vorador had heard such stories before from Humans for the memory of the ancient civilisation of the Vampires had been perverted into some hideous myth about angels and demons. Most often the Humans told of that long forgotten time as an era where fallen angels or demons ruled mankind until the coming of the word of God which liberated them.

"Then it is a city of my predecessors." He muttered as if to himself. But Bane just laughed at this, rolling his head back as if he had been told the funniest jest in the world. Laughing intently he leaned back against his stone altar.

"Do not flatter yourself, Vampire." He laughed scornfully, jabbing a finger in its furred glove at him and waving it back and forth. "I know all about your ravening black winged ancestors." The dismissive way he spoke about them rubbed on the nerves Vorador had so far managed to keep calm. His left ear twitched in rising irritation despite his resolve to maintain a stone faced expression, a nervous reaction.

"They were bad enough." Bane was still speaking and his callous words did little to soothe Vorador's irritation. "But the source of this corruption goes far deeper than that." Angrily he glanced back over his shoulder at the still projected image of the man with a halo of alien energy, a scowl causing his bearded face to wrinkle. "This…this race of 'creatures' violated the very fundamentals of nature itself!" He sounded almost as if this were a personal insult. "They perverted things from the natural flow and order with their mere presence alone."

He gestured with one hand and the smoke from the bowl dissipated, vanishing so quickly that all traces of it were banished in a moment.

"Such was their evil that from the very beginning all Humanity has been irrefutably tainted." He said, picking up the bowl and pouring the contents onto the ground, a thick, oily substance that hissed when it hit the soil but left no mark.

"You speak in cryptic riddles." Vorador snapped, his patience fraying. The indifferent calm he had tried to cultivate throughout this interview had deserted him and now his anger was beginning to push through the façade. Bane seemed to sense this and leered at him crudely, a deliberate provocation.

"Because I feel no pressing need to enlighten an intruder in my grove." He replied, beginning to step backwards around the stone altar. Vorador sensed quite quickly he was about to make some sort of move and started forward himself to preempt him.

"I don't have time for games." The Vampire said with profound irritation, his hand tightening on Marrow's hilt. Bane saw the action and drew back sharply another few paces, bringing his staff up before him defensively once more.

"Too bad." He leered at him, letting a smug smile spread across his lips, pulling up the edges of his black beard. "My grove is a sanctuary for only me and any I choose as a guest. To anyone else, it's a death trap." The pearl at the end of the staff began to glow even more intensely, flickering and then wavering with light as if there were an aurora captive within. Out of this light shapes began to manifest, large and small forms of animals of all kinds, deer, rats, birds, wild horses, elk, a bear and dozens of insects. The images spread out, slipping through the stones all around as if they were ghosts. Soon they had Vorador surrounded on all sides, illusions meant to frighten him. Vorador was neither intimidated nor impressed.

"You were a fool to come here." Bane said ominously and stabbed the point of his staff down into the ground. With a sudden flash he was gone, disappearing not into the depths of a translocation spell but into the magic that permeated this strange place. It swept him away instantly as if he were thrown into the currents of a swift river. The flickering images of animals he had conjured remained behind and it was then that Vorador realised, with sudden alarm, that they were far from illusionary.

The images Bane had conjured back in Weirstein had lacked substance and form. They had been a mere bluff. But here, the magic augmented by this weird place, the images became solid flesh and bone. The Vampire barely had enough time to yank Marrow from its scabbard before the lunging form of a ghostly bear came straight at him. As it passed by, its form a misty suggestion of movement, it brought down its claws in a powerful swipe. Vorador only just dodged those claws and they came down into the stone altar, biting into it with a crunch. Those claws at least were quite substantial.

Vorador tried to retaliate but he was preempted when the ghostly horses, three of them in a tight formation, charged straight at him. They passed through the stones around them like they were indeed ghosts but as they reared up to batter at him with their hooves they were anything but spectres. Shrieking like some deranged shade from the netherworld they struck at him again and again with their hooves, one of them striking him directly in the forehead as he tried to dodge.

If he had been Human, the blow would have taken his head off. Left stunned by the impact, Vorador's vision blurred and the world around him seemed to slow down. His head swam in a throbbing pain but his body responded anyway. Seemingly in slow motion, he brought Marrow up and cleaved the spiritual horse which had struck him across its neck. His blade actually did damage, slicing clean through the ghostly being as if it were real. The ghostly form wavered in mid air then dissipated like mist in a breeze. Despite their shade like appearance they did have a physical presence.

The horses began to circle him, trying to keep him surrounded at all times. With his vision still blurred it seemed to Vorador like a constant circle of ghostly animals, green spectral forms a taunting wall of hostile movement. His head throbbing in pain, Vorador lashed out as his instincts guided him, Marrow a dancing blur of jagged steel in the air. He made contact with something. In the heat and blur of the moment it was hard to tell what but when his sight focused for a moment he saw another of the horses stumble before him before dissipating into a cloud of particles. One more ghostly horse was left, a mighty rearing stallion that came at him with its hooves raking the air. Even left stunned as he was Vorador was not foolish enough to take a second blow to the face. He ducked and rolled under the front legs. As he rolled he brought Marrow up and sliced the wraith across the belly with its tip. The stallion fell down in a frontal collapse but burst into smoke before it could strike the ground.

As the herd of spectral horses fell, the deer came in next. Vorador stood there, bemused by the ghostly images of small deer prancing around him. Deer were not exactly known for being deadly creatures to be feared. These animals, however, quickly disabused him of that notion. As one they rushed in, heads lowered in a charge. The force of their rush was far stronger than their smaller bodies suggested. Deceived by their appearance and left sluggish by his dazed state, Vorador was struck with full force on all sides by the animals. The impact felt like sledgehammers had been taken to every side of his ribcage at the same time. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he collapsed to the ground gasping.

The herd of deer pulled back a short distance, preparing to charge again to finish him off. As they did, Vorador's reactions were like lightning despite the injury. Marrow was sheathed and Havoc and Malice were drawn from their places on his back. The twin axes were unleashed in a deadly arc of blades, a circle of lethal metal edges. Havoc and Malice sliced through the oncoming herd, ripping their ethereal forms to bits and scattering the mist out in all directions.

His ribs broken and his head swimming the Vampire could not maintain the spin and he collapsed down to one knee with both axes in hand. It was a few moments before he could raise his head and take stock of his surroundings.

Something loomed up behind him and looking back sharply Vorador saw, even through his blurred vision, a vicious swarm of spectral insects. The cloud of bees dived at him but he leapt forward out of their path, spinning about in mid-air and unleashing a bolt of energy at them. In his stunned state the hex flew wide of the mark but struck another creature, hard to tell what in the blur, across the face, causing the phantasmal animal to burst into luminous green particles before Vorador could identify it.

Rolling across the ground, Vorador got back to his feet but unsteadily. His vision was beginning to slowly clear as his Vampiric body healed itself, although his chest still burned with every breath. Havoc and Malice were too heavy to wield when his body was this affected. He sheathed them across his back and drew Marrow again

Enough of the world came back into focus for him to see the wraith like elk charging at him with its massive, jagged antlers lowered. There were mere seconds to react. With an effort that left his head swimming again, Vorador leapt sharply to one side. The points of the antlers barley missed him as he tumbled by, but his reflexes remained fast and instant. Spinning in midair he lashed back and caught the creature across the midsection. Marrow sank deep into the spectral animal and it tumbled, bursting into ethereal vapour.

The elk, however, even its brutal charge had been a mere distraction. The bear came charging in with a peculiarly high pitched roar, surrounded by ghostly eagles, hawks, doves and a cluster of other birds. These flew on ahead, fluttering around the Vampire's head trying to distract him as the bear lumbered forward like an oncoming avalanche.

Vorador grabbed a kestrel by a wing as it battered at his head, its transparent body quite substantial in his grasp. He swung the ghostly bird like a club and battered an eagle with it, smashing both birds into the ground. In that same motion he brought Marrow up in a whistling arc, cleaving through several more of the birds and clearing the path for him to see the onrushing bear.

The spectral creature was almost on him, paws with claws held up ready to strike and a mouth gaping wide full of pointed teeth. Vorador did the only thing he had to do. He drew Marrow back and then lunged forward, spearing the ghost in the throat with the jagged sword. The bear kept on coming, the point of the sword sliding in deeper. Then, as its claws were mere inches from Vorador's face, the giant spectral entity vanished in a haze of green.

Perhaps with the Druid no longer present, the bear had been the crux and anchor for the other spectres. When it dissipated the others that remained began to disappear as well, one by one fading from existence. They flickered out like snuffed candles, puffing out into vapour. Soon Vorador was left alone atop the small hillock and he leaned against one of the standing stones, taking a few long breaths. He could feel his body effecting repairs to the battering it had taken. The combat had not done much for his stunned dizziness but his mind was clearing. Slowly but surely his vision came back into focus.

Healing him from that powerful blow had taken some vital energy. It had indeed been fortunate that he had decided to stockpile reserves before coming to the island. Once he was sure he was completely healed, he looked about him. There was no sign of Bane at all. The Druid had fled, leaving his nature spirits to either kill or delay the intruder in his domain. But he had not left his sanctuary, merely used his powers to conceal himself further in.

"We will see who the fool is, soon enough." Vorador remarked flatly.

-0-

**_"Bane had not left his grove but merely moved to its core. Perhaps he sought to hide long enough for the dangers he claimed lurked here to dispatch me. He would be disappointed." _**

-0-

He took a few deep breaths, the pain in his chest gone as his ribs had healed. His energies had dropped but it was still an acceptable surplus. Still, his recovery did not put him closer to finding Bane again. The smothering pressure of energies and magic in this place still prevented extrasensory perception, as strong a blanket as ever, perhaps now awoken to his presence by the Druid. If he was going to find the Druid it would have to be with his own eyes. Not an easy task, considering that he had no idea how big this sanctuary really was. This otherworldly forest might go on forever for all he knew.

Logic dictated, however, that Bane would flee to where he felt safest, which had to be the centre of this grove where his powers would be the strongest. If he found the core, he would find the Druid and this time the man would not have anywhere else to run.

A path led away from the standing stones on the opposite side of the hill from the direction he had approached from. With no other options at hand, Vorador followed it into the trees on the far side of the clearing. As he walked, he ran over in his mind what Bane had told him about the Lost City, frowning at what had been suggested.

So the Lost City had not been made by the Ancient Vampires or Hylden, or at least the Druid had claimed. Then what creatures or race could have made it and how could such a species have remained hidden from modern knowledge? Vorador's frown depended even more. It seemed to him that he had asked that question already.

He remembered the images he had found in the caverns that had housed the obelisk of the spider and snake forms, each showing a forgotten history and strange gargoyle like creatures predating the three races. He had wondered about the implications of their story and now he found himself asking the same thing about the Lost City.

Logic suggested a connection. Could those same alien and ugly beings in the murals be the creators of the Lost City and the Celestial Arrow? And if this was so, then who or what had they been? Why had mention of them been destroyed? What was this 'taint' Bane had referred to, which he thought had corrupted the Human race and whom he blamed the builders of the city for? What had the Seer not told him when she had sent him on his labyrinthine journey and what did she expect to get out of his success? There were too many questions and little answers. He was beginning to wonder if he should have insisted on bringing some of the Serioli warriors along with him, Ajatar-Cadre, Ansu or both. He was sure the three of them could accomplish anything.

The landscape of the grove continued on, beginning to gently slope upwards as if he were climbing into the foothills of a mountain range. He knew his way by the occasional engraved standing stone which dotted the landscape, some hidden in the shadows cast by the trees. The first hint of what Bane had referred to when he had called his grove a death trap for the uninvited.

He stepped on something. It was hard to tell what in that spilt second but whatever it was served as a trigger. Acting on instinct he lunged forward, tucking his body into a roll. The two bursts of green fire seemed to erupt like a geyser out of the ground. The flames snaked around, writhing and looping in midair. If he had still been standing in that spot he would have been incinerated. The streams of fire quenched themselves out as they rose, dissipating almost as soon as they had come but leaving the immediate area blackened.

The second trap occurred when Vorador tried to avoid stepping on anything that might be another trigger. He passed between two standing stones which at first glance seemed the same as any of the many others in this grove. A wave of fire shot up from the earth beneath his feet. At the first instant he felt the rising heat and jumped clear, his trained lightning reflexes only just saving him.

These same triggers of fire proved to be everywhere as he continued on. Anything around him, no matter how innocent it might look, could potentially be a trigger for a deadly burst of eldritch flame. The purpose of these traps was of course to dispose of intruders but also to slow down the more persistent, to make them better targets for anything that might lurk in amongst the trees. Vorador was not inclined to either retreat or slow his pace. As if doing so for the mere purpose of defying the traps, he broke into a run. Bolting through the trees he let his instincts guide them. They had served him well up 'til now and  
he put his trust in them once more. The tug and insistence of danger from this or that in his mind directed him as he ran, moving quickly through the trees and around the standing stones, heading higher and higher up hill. He set off some traps as he ran. The grove was so littered with them it was unavoidable, but his quick pace allowed him to easily outrun the fire that burst forth after him. He paid the sensation of heat behind him and the roar of the fire no heed and concentrated on his running, his entire attention kept on the instinct to keep moving.

A flicker of movement caught his attention. Still running he glanced sharply to his left. Through the trees, perhaps a hundred feet away, was a long, powerful, galloping shape. A single glance even at a distance told him it was one of the Werewolves, but far larger and with distinctive wide, powerful shoulders. As if it sensed him watching, its head turned to face him and he saw its eyes fixed right on him even from that distance.

-0-

**_"It would seem I was not the only hunter to traverse this misty realm."_**

-0-

Vorador knew who it was at once. Remus, the so-called alpha male of the arctic sub-species. So Bane had called in his ally to hunt down and destroy the intruder in his lair. He made to reach for Marrow at his side. Remus must have been watching his arm for the large creature cut swiftly through the trees, coming toward him so fast that Vorador barely had time to draw the sword.

Remus burst out alongside him, massive arms coming up in an underhand swipe which could have torn a slower creature to pieces. The Vampire leapt backward, drawing Marrow up in a slash that parted the flesh along the hide of the nearest arm. It was not a serious injury but enough to force the creature to back off with a howl of pain.

Vorador turned to confront the beast but found himself surprised when he turned back to find that Remus was gone. It was as if the Werewolf alpha male had simply disappeared. Even the blood stains left on the ground from the injury had vanished. Vorador cast his gaze right and left trying to sight his attacker, but there was nothing. After a moment of observation, Vorador broke back into a run although now he prudently kept Marrow out in his hand.

Remus' second attack came further up the now sharply rising slope, seeming from out of nowhere. One moment Vorador had been alone. The next Remus burst forth from the trees with a roar, a juggernaut of muscle, fur, claws and teeth. The Vampire did not even try to dodge that ambush. There was no time. Instead he leaned backwards out of the way of the teeth and claws, letting the Werewolf bear him down to the ground. But as the full weight of the beast came down, Vorador got his feet under it and with one mighty heave tossed him off. As Remus rolled overhead, Marrow stabbed up twice. He had been aiming for his heart but both times missed his mark, stabbing him once in the belly and a second time in the left shoulder. The creature tumbled off him and away but once more, when Vorador righted himself with sword in hand he turned to find all sign of his enemy was gone.

The pattern continued all along the slope. Remus was hunting him insidiously, appearing in places suddenly and making his lunge. Somehow the magic of this place was aiding him, allowing him to come and go with a moment's notice. Bane's doing no doubt.

The attacks became more furious until suddenly Vorador came to the unexpected end of the rise, a precipice that dropped down into a vertical cliff. Beyond that, spread out before him was what could only be the heart of Bane's hidden abode. It was a deep circular valley filled with trees thickly clustered together, so much so that it was impossible to see the ground. In the direct centre of this valley was a jagged peak, rising up out of the midst of the trees like a giant's fingertip. It was a black, foreboding spire that seemed somehow more real than everything around it. Just by looking at it, Vorador knew he had found the epicentre of this twilight realm.

Just for that little bit of additional confirmation, Remus came bursting out of the foliage some distance away. This time he did not attack the Vampire, but began dropping down the side of the cliff towards the valley, leaping from rock to rock with impressive acrobatics and agility for a creature of his size and bulk. Vorador watched him vanish into the trees below with a deep frown creasing his face. Slowly he turned to look up at that black spire once more. The erect peak suddenly seemed to take on a far more menacing appearance in his eyes. In this peak's place he imagined the twisted red tower of Dark Eden, spewing forth is expanding cone of warping perverted magics. Bane had been one of the members of the Guardian Circle involved in that insane plot. He had heard about the particulars from Kain during their time together in his early military campaigns. While that scheme had been hatched out of the influence of madness, this reminder of Bane's potential dangerous insanity was poignant.

He was tired of this game now. He would find Bane and wring the information he required out of the stubborn man if he had to, but Remus' presence was not going to make that easy.

-0-

**_"If I wished to find Bane I would need to outhunt the hunter and beat Remus at his own game. Very well then, so be it. Let the race begin."_**

-0-

Vorador had not tried to shape change since he had come into this strange place, fearing that it might trigger some sort of backlash from the energies that enveloped this realm, but now he was forced to by circumstance. Sprouting additional elongated legs and folding himself into an exoskeleton, Vorador became the spider once more. Quickly he scuttled over the edge of the cliff and began to descend.


	22. 21 A brother spurned

Vorador had seen and used gates that bent space to allow instantaneous travel between one distant place and another before. The Ancient Vampires had employed such gates in order to traverse their far flung settlements without the inconvenience of physically travelling the distance. This was not at all like them. Passing through the gateway opened up by those weird stones felt like he was moving through a tunnel made of densely enveloping foliage, closing in tighter and tighter around him the further he went. Darkness shrouded him on all sides and his vision was obscured by a thick, soupy mist. Out of the shadows whispers began to echo. Small, indistinct voices speaking in no language he could understand.

The deep grove was a stark contrast to the outer edge he had traversed before. Upon entering this strange valley, the sky seemed to change colour immediately to a baleful violet, the sun disappearing like the snuffed flame on a candle. Darkness grew profound, shadows lengthening and splitting as if there were several light sources. In amongst the dark trees it became hard to tell exactly which way was which. It was like an endless maze that required two pedestrian hedge walls to keep its occupants from travelling in circles.

Knowing full well that in the strange, otherworldly forest he was being hunted by both the Werewolf Remus and whatever else the Druid sent after him, Vorador abandoned any attempt at stealth or defence. Shifting his body, he took the swift and familiar form of the lupine and bounded through the undergrowth. The powerful and nimble form was faster than the Werewolf's, whose larger bulk slowed him down and the growls of annoyance at being outpaced echoed ominously from always just behind him, it seemed.

Occasionally he looked around as he ran, trying to see where Remus actually was. He knew the Werewolf alpha male was here somewhere but there was not so much as a glimpse of white fur. He was waiting for the opportunity to strike or perhaps had gone ahead to wait in ambush. Impossible to say. Having to run while keeping his senses heightened for the possibility of an attack was straining his patience to its utter limit.

The black spire loomed just in the distance and keeping his sights firmly fixed on that, the Vampire pressed onwards without pausing. Admittedly he had nothing in the way of concrete evidence that the spire was indeed Bane's central lair. It was what he sensed more than what he deduced that led him to the conclusion the Druid was hiding there. It was the only real thing he had to guide him so he raced on, dodging between the trees.

As he proceeded, the world around him grew darker and darker and the trees seemed to twist and become more ominous and threatening, their limbs reaching up like claws to snare him. Everything around him seemed hostile and ready to destroy him at a moment's notice. Whatever the nature of his sub-reality, it was bent to Bane's will. It seemed his boast about it being a haven only to those who he wished to be here was not exaggerated.

The first obstacle to overcome seemed to materialise so suddenly out of the dark that Vorador almost ran right into it. The trees parted and before him was a large, circling, moat-like expanse of sodden marsh and pools. Rivers of thick slurry ran between wet, boggy islands off in either direction as far as the eye could see. Like everything else in this eldritch place.

The far edge of this watery expanse was perhaps a couple of hundred meters away, a distant rise of continuing trees. Despite the thick vegetation growing out of such a large watery environment, there was no sign of animal life. No frogs or fish, water fowl or even an insect. The entire panorama was silent except for the trickle of the water and even that was subdued.

For a Vampire, such an expanse would be a lethal hazard and attempting to cross it would be unthinkable. It was fortunate indeed then that Vorador's new serpentine form left him now immune to water's acidic touch. Quickly he slipped back to his regular form and from there he reassumed the long, scaly body which still felt new to him. He had gotten used to the spider form eventually but losing all limbs entirely felt quite queer.

Once wrapped in scales, Vorador eased himself down into the waters. Sliding forth he parted the reed and thick growth easily, slipping from side to side as he went. He still had to fight down the instinctive revulsion and panic he felt at being touched by a substance which for centuries had meant nothing but death. Deliberately he forced all thought of burning and scalding out of his mind as he continued on. He had made the swim from the mainland to the island; he would manage this as well.

Despite this adaptive form, however, crossing the boggy terrain was not easy. In places the water flowed quite quickly and it became a challenge to navigate the stiller stretches, often having to backtrack and circle around large, substantial hillocks that got in the way. By the time Vorador had cleared the worst of the rapids he had wasted a substantial amount of time.

The far bank was a high ridge that was exceedingly difficult to traverse for a snake. Vorador could not transform back into his regular form and pull himself up or risk being swallowed by the water. Doggedly he continued on until he ascended a steep slope that took him up and onto the top. There he gratefully changed back into his own form, feeling a great deal of his energies depleted from crossing. The surplus of energy he had acquired was already beginning to dim.

The black spire, however, did appear to be closer and with this as encouragement he pressed on, slipping back into the more welcoming shape of the wolf.

Somehow Remus' presence was still palpable, even on this side of the water. Vorador did not see him but his proximity was felt in the shadows, as if any one of them might be a place of concealment for the ambush hunter. The one thing being played upon more than his nerves, however, was Vorador's patience. He was tired of this runaround game. If he did not get what he wanted soon he would become very irritable.

As such he was not even all that surprised when he came across another obstacle. Once more the trees came to an abrupt end and between him and the looming spire was a vast crevice, a sharp drop of some hundreds of feet with a wide gap of its own between him and the far side.

Stumbling across this ravine, as if it just suddenly appeared out of the land, Vorador began to grow suspicious. When he had entered this central valley he had seen no such crevice, and given its size it would have been inconceivable for him to have overlooked it. Now that he came to think on it, he had not seen that marshy river either from the cliff top.

There could be only one conclusion to draw from this. These environmental hazards were being spawned by Bane to prevent him from reaching the spire. His control over this place gave him, it seemed, the ability to create any adverse terrain he desired. Vorador sat there in lupine form, a wolfish expression of displeasure creasing the muzzle. Clearly if this was allowed to continue Bane would just throw obstacle after obstacle, a never-ending series of conjured hazards. If he wanted to get anywhere he was going to have to force the issue.

He slipped back into his own form.

"You're making this harder than it has to be, Druid." He said out loud and in a challenging tone. He slipped then into his first and most familiar form. Sprouting feathers and constricting in on himself, he became a raven and took to the air like an arrow fired from a bow. Flapping his wings he soared up and over the crevice, flying easily up and above the obstacle. Carried by his wings he flew on past the far edge. He did not land but continued flying on, above the trees now. He would not play Bane's game and kept himself flying squarely towards that spire.

"This is your last warning, Vampire!" A voice burst forth out of the air itself. The sudden shock almost made Vorador transform back into his regular form in midair. He recognised instantly the voice of Bane himself, the Druid speaking to him out of the very wind.

"I have tolerated your presence in my grove long enough." Bane continued ominously, growling out of the insubstantial. The Vampire ignored the words and simply let his senses feel what they could when the words were spoken. The latent magics of this place rippled with each spoken word like pebbles thrown onto the surface of motionless water.

He understood then that his intuition had indeed been correct. Whatever powers augmented this strange sub-reality allowed Bane to speak directly to anyone within it, no matter his actual physical location and this outburst hinted that Bane had indeed been responsible for the obstacles. The magic was especially strong here and was no doubt the reason he had seen no sign of Remus. The Werewolf could have been right behind him the entire time and the magic would prevent him from being discovered.

The spire loomed just up ahead now. Encircling its wide, rocky base was a large clearing devoid of any flora whatsoever. To this Vorador circled down and once he had his feet back on the ground he blurred back into his regular form. In one swift motion he drew the sword at his side and stood facing the towering monolith.

"Leave my lair if you still value your life!" Bane snapped and his irritation was plain. Vorador only smiled. He was certain now he was on the right course.

"I have faced threats from the mouths of demons." He replied flatly. "Yours are lacklustre." Purposefully he started towards the spire once more.

Perhaps by now, pushed to the extreme limits of his irritation and hampered by a Vampire in the very heart of his lair, Bane had had enough of games. Whatever the reason, Remus finally showed himself directly. He burst out of the trees directly behind the Vampire and landed with a heavy thump. Slowly the creature reared up, towering up over Vorador with lips drawn back over his fanged mouth and arms spread wide to either side; claws tensed and twitching.

Vorador had already turned around and held Marrow before him quite calmly, the sword point directed squarely at the Werewolf's barrel-like chest. There was a distance of several dozen feet between them and whoever made the forward rush first would have the advantage. Remus' arms were longer and Vorador knew gave him a greater swiping range. He would need to be quick and get in under those arms to attack the chest or stomach.

Remus stared at him for a long, silent moment and then managed something of a smile, very odd to see on his distorted, muzzle-like face.

"You do not know when you are not welcome, do you, leech?" He asked in that same peculiar way of his, seeming to chew his words.

"I have business here, dog." Vorador replied flatly with similar insult but more disgust. "Get out of my way and I won't have to skin your hide." Remus' smile widened in amused response, showing a great deal of red gum.

"How crass." He rumbled and lowered his head down, his eyes alight with insulting glee. "I would have thought such a proud Vampire, especially one of your lineage, would speak with more refinement – Vorador, firstborn of Janos Audron." He drawled out the names slowly to add emphasis. Vorador furrowed his brow in response.

"Yes, I know who you are now." Remus confirmed. He raised a clawed hand and pointed at the Vampire almost accusingly. "And I see why you are so bitter against my kind." The Werewolf sounded smug about his discovery. "You were alive during the uprising, weren't you? You were there to see the rebel Guardians revolt when we were used as living weapons."

Vorador was silent for a moment then turned his head slightly with a provoked growl.

"You tore down a civilisation that had withstood ten centuries of apocalyptic war." He said with more bitterness and contempt than he meant to show. Remus' words were getting under his skin.

"And that was hardly our idea, Vampire." Remus snapped back and his glee vanished in a moment of anger. "We were not asked if we wished to be mutated into beasts." He held out both forelimbs and looked at them, palms upturned with the claws extended. Something seemed to pass across his face as he considered himself.

It was fleeting, but Vorador recognised the emotion as regret and his own expression of contempt began to soften.

"We were not asked if we wished to act as beasts of war." Remus continued and in his voice now was just as much bitterness as had been in Vorador's own. "We were not asked to then be put down, like infected farm livestock they had no more use for. We were given no choice at all." The Werewolf looked up at him sternly.

"Do you even know our story?" He asked. Vorador said nothing. "No, you don't." Remus growled to himself and lowered his arms to his side. "Ignorant, hypocritical fool. You judge us without knowing all there is to know. Is that not what the Humans do to you?"

Vorador instinctively wanted to deny this comparison but standing here, he suddenly found that he could not. The analogy was too veracious and too personal to deny and he stood there, feeling that he had let some of his foundations slip.

Remus watched him silently for a pause and then began to speak again.

"I was one of the originals, the first set of lycanthropes." He said, never taking his eyes off of the Vampire even for a moment. "We were once ordinary men, slaves that toiled in a quarry for its slate and granite. Our blue skinned, winged masters were not kind. If we did not extract enough stone to help restore their cities, many of us would be flogged. Then Moebius came to us." He paused for a moment seemingly lost in thought. His stretched face betrayed nothing but his teeth ground together tightly. Vorador let him continue talking, remaining silent but wondering how much of this story he should believe.

"He recruited us into his rebel army." He continued. "I and my brother, Romulus, fought many battles under our appointed leader Ewoden. We were amateur soldiers but we learned quickly and were eager for more challenge." Despite his words he sounded neither happy about this nor remorseful. He spoke as if reciting cold, hard fact. "But those days did not last long."

His voice took on an edge of very strong emotion now. There was fear there, mixed with horror and terror and a strong dose of anger.

"We were taken by the foul evil that was Ambraxas-Divus and subjected to the most cruel and excruciating process to become the dogs you see today." At this Vorador's ears flicked up. He did not recognise the name as belonging to any specific person he knew of but he recognised its Hylden origin. That gave this story some more factual basis and made it less likely that it was merely a self-serving lie.

"After the war was over, most of those transformed were put to death." Remus continued. "Some others Ambraxas took to some distant place, I know not where. But my brother and I escaped into the wilderness." He snorted now in annoyance. "It took years of effort, our minds barely able to recall what it was like to think rationally, but eventually we were able to relearn how to think like a normal Human." He fixed Vorador with a glare. "Crawling our way up out of animalistic, feral instincts back to logic and reason is an experience I would not wish upon my worst enemy."

He slunk down slightly almost onto all fours, his body arched forward and his tail lashing out behind him. Under any other circumstances Vorador could have interpreted this as a preparation for a lunge but he perceived that the Werewolf was merely making himself more comfortable. His anatomy seemed to make standing on his hind legs for any extended period of time difficult.

"But even to this day, neither one of us has been successful in transforming back to Human form." He said and even with that admission he kept his voice neutral as possible. "Perhaps we were stuck in this shape too long. Whatever the reason we are forever clad in wolf hide."

Vorador looked him up and down dubiously.

"Your pack seems to manage the skill reasonably well." He said with skepticism, remembering the woman he had caught back on the mainland and the village he had left behind which had been populated by nothing but the wolves in Human skin. Remus glared at him savagely and his lips pulled back over his sharp teeth afresh.

"I am well aware of that!" He snapped in some heat, his claws raking the ground before him. The fur along his back bristled, muscles flexing beneath the hide. Now he definitely looked like he was ready to pounce and Vorador quickly tightened his hand on Marrow's hilt. "Despite the ease of their transformations, I have been attempting futilely to revert back to Human form for centuries!"

Then he seemed to relax a little, his fur resettled itself but Vorador kept his sword at the ready all the same. He knew full well that once this conversation was over there would be an explosion of violence.

"My only consolation is that my treacherous brother is fairing no better than I." Remus chuckled in some sadistic pleasure.

Ever since he had mentioned a brother during this conversation, Vorador had begun to have suspicions. Finally he seemed confident enough to make an assumption.

"Your brother would not happen to have black fur as opposed to white, would he?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Remus considered him with a low rumble of amusement.

"Ahhh, you've come across some of his brood, then, I see." His chuckle sounded very much like brittle lumps of coal being ground together. "Yes, he is as dark as I am pale. Black for his black heart." Both Vorador's eyebrows arched.

"I perceive you had a falling out?" He asked. Remus' reaction to his words made his question almost rhetorical. He reared back up to his hind legs again, rising to his full height. He gnashed his teeth together so hard he must have bitten himself as blood began trickling out the corner of his mouth. He didn't seem to notice, lost in anger that must have been his sorest mental point.

"He is a lying traitor! A greedy usurper!" He spat off to one side, a mix of blood and saliva, wiping away the blood from his maw. "He strives to keep Wyrmheim for himself and his vile kin!" Vorador frowned quickly at the name. He might have never heard the name of such a place before but he recognised some of the worlds that made it up. It was a combination of terms from an old northern dialect that meant Den of Snakes or Home of the Serpent. "He even allied himself with the Mandarin deviants to achieve this, denying me! His own brother!" He snarled. "He gave them the Pearl, the jewel of that place, its prized treasure! Priceless and precious and he traded it away like some mere bauble!" He was ranting, mentioning things that Vorador had no knowledge of but the Vampire kept quiet and listened. This cleared up one mystery at least. No wonder the black and white breeds of Werewolves were at each other's throats if their alpha males had such an intense feud.

"With Bane's help I will take what is my due." Remus concluded.

"And the royal family of the invading army?" Vorador pressed quickly. "Why did you seek them out for death if all you desire is vindication on your brother?" Remus' face suddenly went flat at the question, eyes narrowing and lips settled down over his teeth. Vorador suddenly knew he had reached the bottom of the well that was the Werewolf's forthrightness.

"No no no, Vampire." Remus began in a low, ominous tone. "I am not going to give you all the answers at once." His large body began to flex and this time Vorador was quite sure that he was preparing to attack. "You are an irritant I need gone. My attention is needed on fighting my brother and you are a distraction I cannot afford to have."

Vorador regarded the creature silently. As he considered the beast he saw the truth of his existence, trapped in his private war of vengeance, embittered by centuries of dark brooding and repeated failure. The comparison between the plight of Vampires and the bestial Werewolves had been disturbing enough, but now Vorador had had his eyes opened to another similarity between Remus and himself. Both of them were relics from that ancient Human rebellion. Both of them had known hardship and loss. Both of them had endured bitter betrayals. Both of them had been consumed by dark, brooding thoughts.

But Vorador had come out of that dark pit. It had taken him a long time but he had clawed his way out of that abyss of despair and he would not go back down into it again. Remus was trapped there still, ensnared by his own acrimony and hatred. The realisation of this stirred in Vorador an emotion that he had never thought he would ever experience towards any of their kind.

"You poor, cheerless creature." He said with real pity in his voice.

Without any warning at all Remus lunged. He came on like a tidal wave, claws spread wide and mouth full of sharp teeth agape. Had Vorador not been watching him intently in anticipation of such an attack, he might have had his head taken off. Having just that spilt second to react, the Vampire arched backwards dramatically, letting the massive beast sail overhead. All seemingly in slow motion he drew the jagged edge of Marrow back and sliced a large gash in Remus' flank as he passed. Blood spurted out over the ground and Remus cringed, curling in on himself. He struck the ground, rolled a short distance and then righted himself with a snarl.

Heedless of the injury he galloped in again, the earth churning beneath his clawed feet. Vorador darted to one side, narrowly avoiding a violent slash that would have opened his rib cage if he had taken it straight on. As the Werewolf lunged past, Vorador swung Marrow around and sliced him across the arm. This wound, however, was fleeting. Reacting instantly to the sting Remus swung his arm and backhanded the Vampire away.

The blow struck him across the chest. It knocked the wind out of him and sent him hurtling back several feet until he collided roughly into a tree. He dropped to the ground, momentarily stunned, shaking his head. Glancing up, Vorador saw Remus coming on again with mouth spread wide, jaws aimed at his neck.

As the massive wolf's head came within range, Vorador leapt forward. Using the skull as a springboard, he vaulted up and over the broad shoulders and onto the creature's back. Savagely he stabbed Marrow back into Remus' bulk. The jagged blade bit deep, sinking into the Werewolf's body as a spray of blood erupted out over the ground.

Vorador rolled out of the way, swiftly spinning around with the sword already held out in front of himself defensively. Remus snarled and turned around. Like a Vampire, a Werewolf was able to take a great deal of physical punishment and regenerate. Even such savage wounds were not sufficient to kill or seriously injure. To kill or hamper such a beast tremendous damage must be done to something vital, like the head or the heart.

Vorador considered his situation quickly as the Werewolf began to stalk him, stepping to the side with his forearms held low. The last time he had fought Remus, the Werewolf had had the advantage of some of his pack to back him up. One on one, however, he was not as dangerous. With Marrow as his weapon the Vampire had the advantage of speed and agility.

Remus himself seemed to perceive as much. He did not charge in again but walked to the left, his eyes locked on the Vampire. Vorador sidestepped with him, his body relaxed but subtly poised, waiting for the rush. It would be best to kill Remus here and now and remove him from interfering in his endeavour.

The Werewolf began to sprint off to the side, his wounds healing already. Spurting on, he began circling faster and faster. Vorador tried to keep his eyes on him but Remus proved to be too quick. Even a Vampire's enhanced eyes saw a blur of white. Sidestepping to keep his eyes on his enemy, Vorador inadvertently lowered his sword.

Instantly Remus struck. He changed direction so fast that Vorador didn't even see it. Before he could leap out of the way the Werewolf alpha male was on him, claws slashing down. One slash cut Vorador down his right arm, drawing blood and freeing Marrow from his grasp. The sword spun away and landed point down in the ground. A second slash came around so quickly that Vorador caught it across the face. The claws drew deep gashes across his lips, nose, and brow, narrowing missing cutting his eyes open. The blow was so strong that it knocked him sideways, blood streaming from the three slashes down his face. The gashes had gone deep, right down to the skull bone.

Vampires did not scar easily. Their flesh unusually healed completely even after serious injuries. The only scar Vorador had acquired had been the encircling one around his neck, where his head had been reattached. He was fortunate that this blow would not produce such permanent marks but the tremendous pain and blood flowing down into his eyes left him blinded and disoriented.

He was in serious trouble now. Disarmed and injured, he had to act quickly. Remus was coming at him again, jaws thrown wide. Acting more on instinct than any intent he swung backwards away from the teeth which snapped so close he could smell alpha male's breath. Tumbling backwards, he grasped the creature by the tuft of fur on his chest and rolled. Remus' own forward momentum did the rest and together they tumbled backwards, clawing and scratching at each other with claws and talons. Trapped and plunged head over heels, Remus snarled and tore at him like the enraged animal he was. In such close quarters, however, Vorador was easily able to deflect and hold off the claws with his arms and keep the snapping jaws at bay with one foot.

As they tumbled, Vorador pressed that foot into the beast's chest. When their spin finally brought them level he thrust his leg straight as hard as he could. The kick knocked Remus away, sending the alpha male sprawling across the ground, angrily thrashing to regain his balance. Vorador wasted no time, dashing for his dropped sword as the slash marks across his face began to close up.

Howling in wrath, Remus scrabbled back to his feet and galloped on all fours after him. His wounds were already healed but they had enraged him, driving him into a frenzied pursuit. While the alpha male of the pack was indeed smarter than the others when in feral form, when prodded his anger would override his Human logic and reduce him to a red-eyed, reactionary rage.

Vorador knew that unless he did something quickly, the Werewolf would easily outpace him. He also could not afford to drag this fight out as his opponent had strength and stamina that he did not have. He skidded to a stop beside Marrow and yanked the sword out of the ground. As he drew the blade up he did not hold it up to protect himself from the onrushing Werewolf. Swiftly one hand reach behind him even as he moved to face Remus, bringing forth one of the twin axes. With two instruments of metal in each hand he brought them sharply together with a cloud clank.

As metal clanked off of metal, several sparks ignited into the air. From those sparks the Serioli techniques gave birth to an elemental inferno. He was using the majority of his surplus of energy to create the fiery maelstrom. Just like back in the chapel of Valeholm it would leave him without additional strength to call upon but when faced with a maddened opponent who would keep coming until he was destroyed, he had no choice.

The tornado of fire burst forth from the sparks with a roar that shook the ground, the shockwave of heat blasting out so hard that Vorador had to hold his stance rigid against the recoil. Every plant in the radius of the burst was incinerated, their ash scattering wildly out to either side. Remus was right before him, directly in the path of the inferno.

Perhaps Remus had been warned by those of his kin who had escaped the fire in the chapel of Valeholm about such a fiery technique. Whatever the reason, the alpha male seemed to regain enough of his sense to leap to the side out of the way. He did not have enough time for that, however, and as the fire struck it washed over him a torrent of red flames.

The fur across his left hand side, where the blast hit hardest, was burnt away in moments and the skin and flesh beneath scorched. Burn marks lanced down the rest of his body and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Any howl the alpha male might have made was swallowed in the high pitched sizzle that the flames made over his body.

The maelstrom finally expended itself with a short detonation which tossed Remus back several dozen feet. He landed on his back, arms spread wide and body slowly smouldering. He drew in a painful gasp that sounded like a snake's rattle, straining for breath. From the sound Vorador guessed that he had breathed in some of the burning hot hair and it had seared his throat and lungs as well.

Vorador, still holding the axe and the sword, began forward. It would be best to finish this beast now while he was down. However, after the first few steps his legs quivered and he had to stop, sinking down onto one knee with a strained breath of his own. He had thought he had sufficient strength to unleash such a pyrokinetic attack without affecting his own vital energies.

But he realised then he had failed to take into account the strain and injuries he had suffered. They had diverted his energies right when he had needed them most and now he found his own strength waning alarmingly. Quickly he tried to stand back up but his legs were stiff and responded only awkwardly.

To make matters even worse, despite the horrific injuries inflicted on him, Remus was getting back up himself. His body was still gently smoking and blood was running down to make what fur hadn't been burnt away matted and wet, but he was rising. His teeth ground together with a growl of barely controlled rage as he vaulted back onto all fours. He looked like something dragged from the demon realm, twisted and blackened. Vorador stood on legs that he tightly controlled, forcing them to keep as still as possible. Quickly he held Marrow out before him with one hand.

"Get you gone." He said, forcing all trace of weariness out of his voice. "Before I put you down like the dog you are." It was all bravado, a bluff to keep from fighting again. Despite his injuries Remus still had the advantage of strength and winded as he was, Vorador's advantage of speed had been negated.

Remus, however, did not seem to realise this. He snarled in hatred but his instinct for self-preservation was stronger than his anger. He began to back off, albeit reluctantly. His eyes never left the Vampire, narrowed and burning with indignation for such inflicted pain. When the alpha male was a prudent distance he turned and galloped off into the trees, his burnt arm held against his chest. As he passed between the trees and into the shadows he disappeared, vanishing as if he had never been there at all.

Vorador stared down the line of scorched earth after him. His body was strained but he could endure it until he could find blood to restore his sturdiness.

But he would have to make do for now. He turned his head and looked up towards the black spire now almost directly in front of him. From a distance it had looked like a jet black spike of smooth rock but now that he was closer he could make out a steep, winding natural staircase that twisted up the side, disappearing underneath an overhang.

-0-

**_"Winded and irritated, I had now at last chased Bane to the very centre of his lair. There would be no running from me now. However after so many trails simply to get to this point I was sourly tempted to try the resilience of history and kill Bane myself."_**

-0-

Deliberately forcing his body to move despite the decrease of its energies, the Vampire began determinedly towards the bottom of the staircase.


	23. 22 A Druid's Agreement

(Note - "Nosgoth" the new Multiplayer game apparently in development will not be taken into consideration when finishing this series of fanfictions. Unless the game in question actually carries on the original LOK story it is irrelevant.)

-0-

The path twisted and turned seemingly at random up into the black stone of the spire, the trail ominously narrow and in places barely wide enough to allow passage. Up and up Vorador pressed, continuing on determinedly but keeping his large ears pricked up and forward. He would not be taken by surprise again.

As he rose up through the crags of the spire the environment around him seemed to change yet again. It grew lighter, as if dawn were encroaching on night, hastened by every step he took. The threatening forest surrounding the spire had been drenched in shadow, but the heights of this black spire had its own rules and here, light prevailed.

Several hundred feet up from the grove's floor, perhaps halfway up the spire's length, he came across a small entrance. It was a narrow crack in the face of a massive black rock, its edges encrusted with strange oyster-like plant life. Vorador took a long moment to consider the opening and then plunged in without any more hesitation. The tunnel was not very long but it curved back and forth so often that it would have been easy for the less observant to get lost. When the tunnel finally came to an end the Vampire stepped out into a strange cavern, a large cave with an open hole in the ceiling. A shaft of sunlight lanced down from that opening onto the direct centre of the cave where sprawling out across the floor was a carpet of lush green. There were plants of all kinds; shrubs, trees, long grasses, exotic flowers from some unheard of land. Fireflies and other bright insects, the first animal life he had seen so far in this sub-realm conjured by some magic of the Circle. The walls were covered in simple drawings, like those painted on the wall of some primitive Human's cavern dwelling, depicting many scenes of animals which had long ago become extinct, mostly hidden by a thick mixture of creeper vines and moss.

This grotto somehow seemed more real than the strange world he had traversed to get here, its outlines and colours more normal and defined. It was here that the strange powers of the grove were most acutely concentred. He could not see them for they remained as invisible as ever, but the centre of power was so close he could sense it now, almost strong enough to vibrate his bones.

In the centre of all this greenery was a stone ruin; a set of primitive, squared off standing stones set in a tight ring. It was from here that the power of this entire place seemed to emanate, from a strange circular pool of water in the middle of the ruins. The water was icy calm, perfectly still like a pane of glass or a mirror, but the ripples of power coming from it were even stronger.

Sitting on top of one such stone, facing him as he entered, was the Druid. Bane's face was drawn down into a frown of intense irritation, his bearded face drooping and eyes fixed on the Vampire. He sat cross-legged with his staff across his lap, both hands resting upon it. At a moment's notice he could bring the staff up to be used. But he had been chased to the very heart of his private domain now. There was nowhere left to run.

Vorador paused and stood there, staring right back at him with a purposely blank expression. He kept his hands by his sides and did not even attempt to position them so as to make it easier to draw Marrow or the axes. He was not expecting violence this time. The Druid glowered and then leaned back.

"You're tenacious, Vampire; I'll give you that." He said with frustration, the fingers on his left hand drumming on the length of his staff. "You must be desperate if you pushed in this far." Vorador just shrugged in response.

"I have goals to achieve, the same as everyone else." He replied. The Druid seemed almost enraged by the casual answer. He slapped one hand down on his knee.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?!" He demanded and gestured wildly with one hand. "Go find the Lost City some other way!" Vorador almost rolled his eyes at that but stopped himself before he could make such an unguarded gesture and took a few steps forward.

"Believe me, if I had a viable alternative I would pursue it with pleasure." He said, keeping his own annoyance out of his tone. "But you are the only lead I have." Then he smiled somewhat ironically. "And besides, you owe me."

Bane blinked.

"I, what?" He asked incredulously, raising one of his large, shaggy eyebrows. The Vampire raised a hand and gestured at him negligently.

"Had it not been for my murder of the previous Guardian of the Pillar of Nature, you would not have been chosen as his successor." He reminded the Druid sardonically, raising a talon. "You owe not only your position but your life to my actions." Bane's expression turned comically quizzical as he tried to follow that thread of logic.

"What a perverse view to history." He remarked with a shake of his head. He kept his eyes on the Vampire and was silent for another long moment. Vorador read frustrated anger in his eyes but then a sort of weary resignation seemed to join it and the man's shoulders slumped.

"Very well, since clearly my research is not going to be kept secret and if it will get you to leave me alone then what do you want to know?" He demanded bluntly in an exasperated tone of voice, his dear headdress tipped forward so his eyes were hidden. Vorador came further forward, right up to the edge of the circle of stones.

"Where is the LostCity?" He asked.

"Somewhere." The Druid replied. The Vampire's expression darkened considerably.

"That's not helpful." He kept his tone deliberately neutral.

"It's not meant to be." Bane lifted his staff from his lap and holding it in one hand, he pointed it down towards the pool at the centre of ruins. The pearl at its end emitted its faint aurora-like glow and in response, the pool began to gently stir. As the waters awakened, so did the powers latent in this strange place almost in the same manner.

Slowly an image began to form in the water and looking down, Vorador realised it to be a map of the world. He recognised it from that other map he had glimpsed once in the caverns beneath Nupraptor's Keep. Strangely, even this summoned map conjured by magic was inferior to the one in the caves.

"I do not actually know where on Nosgoth the city is located, or even if it is located on Nosgoth at all." Bane was saying and across the map showed places that faintly emitted a pale red light, which Vorador assumed were the locations Bane had already searched. Most of the mountains and forests of Nosgoth itself had been marked this way. "For all I know the city was built on the moon." The Druid added, glaring down at the map with some contempt. He shook his head. "But knowing where the City is would do you no good."

Vorador looked up at him sharply, a quizzical expression on his face. Bane grunted and flicked his staff down. Immediately the sluggish turning of the pool's water stopped and was calm once more.

"A vile enchantment surrounds the place, denying physical passage to any but its creators." Bane continued grimly. "Such a barrier prevents me from pinpointing its location and entering it even if I could."

Vorador considered this intelligence with a frown causing his face to crease. If this was indeed true, then no wonder none had ever located the Lost City. But this also meant that his quest was fruitless, for what good was finding the city if he could not enter it? There had to be some way to get in he reasoned, or Bane himself would not be so interested in this strange place either.

"Then how can one enter?" He asked intently. Bane considered him for a moment, perhaps rethinking his decision to elaborate on what he knew about the city. Vorador fixed him with a pointed stare, silently reminding him that if he did not disclose what he knew then the Vampire would just keep coming until he did. The Druid grunted in response and looked away.

"There is a series of arcane gateways scattered throughout Nosgoth, hidden away in various remote and isolated locations." He finally began. "These gates circumnavigate the barrier." Then he looked down at the Vampire before him. "Such gateways were commonly employed by your ancestors, so I am sure you are familiar with the technique." Vorador only nodded once in response. "But this particular set is unique and the only way for anyone, other than its builders, to set foot in the Lost City."

A gate to cross this supposed barrier would indeed be useful, Vorador thought to himself looking down at the pool before him contemplatively. But when Bane added; "I even know where one such gate is located." His expression turned sour once more. He knew his luck well enough to know that such a thing was too convenient. Grimly he turned his head up to face the Druid once again.

"I am sensing, as the Humans would say, a fly in the ointment." He said. Bane's face creased and he titled his head to one side.

"What an odd phrase." He remarked in thoughtful consideration. "But apt nonetheless." He uncrossed his legs and let one of them hang over the edge of the stone, raising his staff upright with one hand and resting it against his perch. "The gates are all blocked from the other side." The Guardian continued and his tone turned characteristically sour. "The Lost City has been occupied by the black Werewolves of Romulus."

Both of Vorador's ears twitched at that name and his eyes narrowed speculatively. Suddenly he recalled his earlier conversation and some of the references that white alpha male in his anger had made which had not made sense.

"Remus' brother?" He asked.

"Yes, I see you had a little talk with my savage friend." Bane replied but without any amusement in his voice, still cantankerously sour. "And he is not the only one quite bitter about that." He took a moment to collect himself, running a hand down through his beard to crush it down. "The two brothers came across the Lost City together, through such a gate." He said. "Remus assumed they would share in their good fortune, but it would seem that Romulus was not the sharing type."

Vorador compared this to what Remus had told him. He had referred to his brother wanting to keep 'Wyrmheim' to himself. The name Wyrmheim linguistically referred to a den or home of snakes but if this was indeed the Lost City, just what did the use of such a name say about its creators and original inhabitants?

"Somehow Romulus has prevented any outside gate from opening into the city." Bane was still saying. "I can only assume the means to do so are within the city itself." Vorador paused in his contemplation and frowned.

"And so Remus believes you can help him breech those gates?" He asked rhetorically, already sure he was right. Bane did not answer but the sour lines that tightened were all the confirmation that the Vampire required. "What do you get out of this cosy arrangement?" He asked.

"I have my own reasons for wanting to enter that place." Bane snapped. The Guardian stood up to his full height, his form etched in shadow by the glow of the pearl in his staff. "The origin of the taint of Mankind is there. I want to know its secrets." His tone was adamant but Vorador suspected instantly that there was more to his desire than such simple curiosity.

"And what taint is this?" He quickly asked, pressing the issue. Bane twitched and pressed his lips together as if reluctant to continue, but that didn't last. He finally shrugged with a grunt of albeit reluctant acceptance.

"As the Guardian of Nature, it is my duty to know when things are perverted from the true course of the macrocosm." The Druid began in a subdued tone of voice, sounding strangely resonant. "And Mankind itself screams of such a perversion." He kept his voice low as if he were afraid he might be overheard by someone. Vorador raised an eyebrow at this remark. He remembered what he had discovered Bane doing at the standing stones on the outskirts of his grove, peering into the vapours emanating from a sample of his own blood for some telltale trace. "Something was done to our species a long time ago, diverting us from what we were intended to be into what we are now. A terrible perversion."

Vorador's eyebrows raised even higher at such sentiments, that Bane would think that the current state of his species was somehow wrong or corrupt. He had come across similar sentiments in the religious from time to time, lamenting that Mankind was not perfect in every way and therefore needed 'saving'.

"And if my hunch is correct, the same was done for your 'ancestors'." Bane added, giving Vorador another dose of surprising information.

Something about this seemed to fit together with the murals he had seen in the caverns where he had obtained the ability to turn into a serpent, where representations of all three races of Human, Hylden, and Vampire had been lorded over by some other creature. This seemed to be more confirmation that the builders of the Lost City had created those ruins as well. The puzzle was slowly coming together but the final picture was still not clear. This explained why and how Remus and Bane cooperated with each other, but not why the white Werewolves had sought out and killed most of the invading army's royal family. But by now, Vorador was beginning to form his own opinion on that. He did not know enough yet to be sure, but it was becoming more and more likely that what he half suspected was the bleak truth.

"It would seem everyone wants to get to the Lost City for whatever reason they have." He mused as if to himself, looking down at the pool again. He had known from the start that the Seer had omitted many important details when she had sent him on this quest, but the Lost City's true importance seemed even greater than he had imagined. Still, what did that matter so long as the Seer fulfilled her promise and restored Umah to him?

"Apparently so." Bane muttered bitterly and then fixed the Vampire with a stern glare. "Well now, I have told you all there is to know about that place." He said and waved his free hand dismissively in the direction of the exit. "So kindly, be gone." Vorador paused there as an idea came into his mind. He had no other leads aside from Bane and nowhere else to go to find them, given what he had told him. If he wanted to progress and find a way into the Lost City he would need to improvise something.

"Do not be so hasty." He said, looking up at the Human with a purposely sly smile crossing his face, showing his fangs. "Perhaps, Druid, you might be willing to make a similar deal with me?" Bane stared down at him with wide eyes at the suggestion. Vorador continued. "I will help you get to the Lost City as long as I am allowed to go there without restraint as well." It was a gamble to make the offer but he was out of options. Only Bane knew where to find such gates that would allow access and he was possibly the only one to make to them work.

"Remus wishes to go there to destroy his brother." Bane mused grimly. "I wish to go there to unearth the mystery of a lifetime." He fixed Vorador with a stern, suspicious glare. "What possible reason do you have for such a journey?" The Vampire's returning look was steady.

"Family." He replied simply. Bane grunted, sounding very much like a warthog and leaned on his staff with a disgusted expression.

"Cryptic." He muttered. "But I would expect nothing less from your kind." For a long moment he was silent with a reluctant expression. Apparently he was still hesitant to bring someone in on his work that he did not trust, but Vorador knew the Druid was at much of a dead end as himself. Without more aid themselves, neither Bane nor Remus would be able to enter the city. The Druid himself seemed to perceive as much and with distaste he nodded once.

"Very well, then." He decided. "As long as what you say is truly all you desire." The Druid did not bother hiding the suspiciousness in his voice as he eyed the Vampiric intruder to his realm.

"And so long as what you say is all you want." Vorador replied, throwing his own suspicions back in his teeth. The two of them looked at each other in mutual suspicion but both aware of the need for one another's aid. Bane grunted and broke eye contract.

"The gateway I discovered is hidden inside a large cave, just to the north to the Dogma city of Zwergstadar." He said. "To make it open from this end I intend to channel energy from the full moon, as such power is the most adaptable for the purpose." Vorador twitched. While he had no knowledge of the particulars of such a procedure he did intimate knowledge of a substance that performed the same function. As such he was expecting it when Bane carried on; "But to focus such energy I require a small amount of a rare mineral."

"Eclipse-ka." Vorador said flatly. The Druid blinked in surprise.

"Then you know of it?" He asked.

"I am familiar with the metal." The Vampire replied, remembering the weapon wielded by Enlil, the newly appointed leader of the Hylden House of War. The spear, the Gáe Bolga, she had employed had been composed of Eclipse-ka and it had made the young Hylden a formidable opponent in the duel on the Forum floor.

"It is very scarce." Bane said. "I have been looking desperately for enough to achieve the energy connection necessary to open the gate." Vorador knew that of course. The metal itself was a native resource of the Demon Realm and was present in Nosgoth only because Hylden, before and during the ancient war, had transported some quantity of it to this world. "There were once artefacts carved from the substance." The Druid carried on, watching the Vampire intently. "But they were confiscated by the extinct Sarafan Order during their crusades. I have searched but have yet to find even one."

"And I suppose if I find one of these artefacts, then you can open the gateway to the Lost City?" Vorador asked in a resigned tone of voice.

"That's my offer, Vampire." Bane confirmed cantankerously. "You want to be part of our arrangement, those are the terms." Left with that ultimatum Vorador was left with no other alternative.

"So be it, then." He remarked. Bane nodded once and then held up his staff. The pearl at its end began to emit its glow and the powers latent in the chamber began to respond. The pool in the centre of the stone trembled, a shockwave of ripples spreading out from its epicentre. Then the water peeled back and an opening came into being, a dark hole with walls of mist similar to the tunnel which had brought him to this strange location Bane chose to call home. This was clear enough, a dismissal and in his own way, Bane's polite and final request for him to leave.

"When you have one of the artefacts, journey to the cave north of Zwergstadar." The Druid told him, still holding the staff out with one hand. "We will be waiting for you there."

"How courteous." Vorador remarked flatly and stepped into the opening.

-0-

**_"So my quest took another bizarre turn. Now I was to hunt down an obscure relic made from an even more obscure metal. If nothing else this journey was teaching me to be more tolerant of Raziel's apparently random fluttering."_**

-0-

Leaving Bane's domain did not take as long as it had to enter. The tunnel around him swirled like water flowing down a drain, carrying him with it. In the space of a few breaths, the Vampire found himself standing on the edge of a cliff staring out over a sea filled with small icebergs. A cold wind blew off of the sea and ruffled his clothes. He was back on Remus' island, in the real world. He could hear the sound of the water breaking on the rocks below and even the distant howls and growls of the Werewolves as they continued to search for the intruder which had spilt so much blood.

He took a few moments to breathe in the air to reacquaint himself with reality after being submerged in that queer place. But he did not have time to waste. He had a very real method to enter the Lost City now. All he had to do was to find the key that opened the door.

-0-

**_"But how was I to find such a relic if Bane had been searching without success? I needed help; someone with connections to provide information."_**

-0-

Brought out of his calm reflection by that thought, he frowned deeply and turned to look off at the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise to his left which told him where to find the east.

-0-

**_"There was only one such person I knew of in this time. I would need to speak with that young upstart, William."_**

-0-

It was logical. William was now a king and would have many sources of information, especially as he waged his campaign to conquer the East. If there was such a relic here or anywhere in Nosgoth, he would know or at least would have the means of finding out. The idea, however, of going to William for this information left a sour taste in his mouth. The young monarch's cavalier attitude grated on his nerves, and he disliked having contact with Humans to begin with.

Still, what choice did he have? It was not as if he could approach any other monarch without the certainty of being riddled with arrows, much less be allowed to speak. William was the only Human ruler with whom he was on speaking terms in any era. He had no way of finding these relics without William. But he was closer now and had taken a great step forward. He had to keep up momentum.

Quickly he got out the map that William had given to him back in the mountain pass. He had last seen his army marching east after he had conquered Weirstein. His plan, according to what Vorador had overheard, had been to circle east through the swamps to come at this region's capital city by surprise. Two towns lay in that direction; marked down as Festuverborg to the direct east and Vatnormur to the southeast. William's plan was to avoid major conflict until he could quickly march on the capital at Zwergstadar. He would have marched through the central mountain range by now and come down onto the plain on the far side. Running up to the southern foothills of those mountains and north of the swampland was a large stretch of water, ominously noted by the map as the Lake of Fallen Bones.

An army on the march would be limited by the speed of their supply wagons, so it was probably safe to assume that William had gotten no farther than the lake by now and was preparing to venture into the swamps. He would have to catch him there.

Putting the map away, Vorador took to the air. Within a moment he forced his body into the most familiar shape of the raven, wings snapping out wide as he dived forward off the cliff. Caught in a powerful updraft from the sea he soared high, leaving the island behind. Within moments Remus' lair and the domain and home of his pack was behind him, a white smudge amidst a lake of drifting blue ice.

He flew high, soaring on the winds and using their flow to carry him away from the sea and back over to the mainland. As the sun rose higher in the sky Vorador pressed on. By the time he left the coastline far behind the sun was high at late morning but he continued on without pause, flying towards the rising smudge of darkness on the horizon that was the mountains. They were not as a high range as compared to those to the west, but tall enough to have a permanent snow cap atop them.

Flying on, he saw that the signs of the passage of a large number of men were more than evident. As William's army had passed they had churned up the snow into slushy mud, a thick trail leading southeast into the foothills. Vorador followed the trail on the wing, watching as it ascended into the mountain passes.

Here Vorador had to descend, flying lower to avoid being buffeted around by the erratic winds that always encircled mountain ranges. The trail led on through several tight ravines and gorges. There was little mud and snow here to churn to make a definite sign of passage, but there were discarded items here and there; a torn leather scabbard, a broken horseshoe, and large piles of manure both Human and horse. All told of the coming of many Men and animals within the early hours of this morning.

The ravines came to an end and the trail led around the central peak of the mountains and then directly south through a small highland and then down some steep hills.

The second of this region's massive lakes lay before him, far larger a body of water than the Spirit Lake to the west. The Lake of Fallen Bones was fed by many rivers and streams that came down off the mountains and ran many miles to the south, where it turned into a wide river and its massive delta formed the vast Fens.

To the south, almost within the Fens themselves, was William's army. The force was clearly visible, backed up to the very edge of the swampland. They had formed up into a tight defensive circle, swordsmen out in front with their shields raised. The cavalry were behind, encircling the middle where the royal banners waved.

They had good reason for such a defence. Surrounding them on nearly all sides was a massive, seething pack of black Werewolves. William's army had clearly been ambushed.


	24. 23 Romulus

The Werewolves surrounding William's army did not outnumber the boy king's force, but rather had strategically positioned themselves to leave his army backed up in upon itself with no room to manoeuvre for a charge that would break their blockade. The beasts were launching several flanking attacks now and then, darting in to claw at the sides of the infantry, doing a little damage before backing off to conserve their own. Little by little such cut and run tactics were bleeding out William's defensive force. Several crumpled bodies of swordsmen lay in the mud, some being dragged by the beasts over to their own line to be torn apart and devoured messily on the spot.

Exactly how these creatures had lured the Human army into such an untenable position, Vorador did not know. What was quite clear to him, however, was that if he desired William's aid, he would be forced to once more intervene. He disliked having to do so as he was not following his own pathos and belief that the less Vampires had to do politically with Humans the better, but necessity it seemed had the bad habit of forcing its mortal playthings to do that of which they heartily disapproved. Settling down on top of a sheltering outcropping of rock, Vorador paused, still in his secondary feathered form. From this concealed spot he considered the situation.

What the Humans needed was some breathing room and time for their generals to coordinate a counterattack to break the beasts' advantage of strategic position. This could be achieved by his providing a distraction, an attack on the Werewolf rear. Such an attack, however, against so large a pack of the creatures would result in his immediate evisceration and he did not intend to have his intestines removed by dozens of beastly claws for William's sake. A far better approach would be to allow something else, much less vital than himself, to make the distraction.

Quickly he took stock of the terrain all around. Just to the northeast there was the massive Lake of Fallen Bones, and its southward travelling river was directly to the east. To the south were the deep patches of swampy water and rising trees. Directly behind him, to the west marking the edge of the mountains, was a relatively short cliff made of granite, entangled thickly in moss and clingy creepers. That seemed most promising.

On closer inspection, he saw that the cliff was quite weathered and in places had crumbled into fragments which the thick vegetation was holding together. The slightest pressure would likely cause pieces of it to fall away, even the larger rocks loose and easily moveable. Atop the cliff rested larger man-sized boulders that were already sinking down onto the loose material. The entire slope was a massive landslide waiting to happen. All it needed was a sufficient enough jolt to make it lose its cohesion and collapse.

Quickly Vorador surveyed the mountains above the cliff. Almost at once he spotted what he was looking for. A higher cliff face loomed out from the mountains above and on the edge of this cliff was a massive rock. Vorador took to the air again, riding the rising air currents up. Within a few minutes he soared high enough to reach that higher cliff and settled down on the top of the boulder he had spotted.

From this high vantage point he could see the battle below and it seemed like two large groups of ants trying to outdo one another. Close up, the boulder was massive, the size of an average house and it was positioned just so to create the effect desired. It would do perfectly.

Quickly he shimmered and flowed back into his regular form and set to work. First with one of the twin axes he chipped away at the stone supports underneath the boulder until they began to wobble. When that was accomplished he took both axes and applied them to the far side of the rock. Using them as a lever he heaved, pushing several times. Inch by inch he pushed and he could feel the rock begin to budge.

Then, some support beneath collapsed with a detonation of dust and fragments and the huge boulder began to ponderously move. The Vampire had to step backwards quickly in order to not be swept along with it. The rock leaned out from the cliff and then when it passed a tipping point its own weight began to tell. The cliff began to give way and the boulder began to topple, falling away with a high pitched whistling. It struck the ground several times on its way down, bouncing like an ordinary throw pebble and gaining speed.

The two armies of men and monsters were too preoccupied with each other to notice the oncoming rock. However, when it smashed into the lower granite cliff the resulting boom was impossible to ignore. They all turned at the sound, even in the midst of killing one another. The rock smashed into the granite cliff like a giant's fist and the weathered stone broke open, erupting out and down its slope like a tidal wave.

A deadly avalanche of earth and stone boiled up and ran straight down towards the bulk of the Werewolf army. Several of their number had the wit to try to run, but nothing was quick enough to outrun a landslide. The dark wolves were caught up and smashed, the rush of rubble breaking over them. The lucky would have been killed instantly. Those not so fortunate would have been buried alive.

The avalanche continued on for some considerable distance, almost reaching the shores of the large lake. When it finally petered out it had left a wide path of devastation that stretched for a good three miles. Despite himself, Vorador could not help by feel a tinge of pride for having been responsible for such a tremendous upheaval.

For a long moment after the last few rocks bounced down the cliff, there was a powerful and unnatural silence. Then down below one of the generals of William's army finally gathered his wits enough to realise the strategic gift he had been granted. The Human forces parted and the cavalry burst forth past them in a mighty charge.

The Werewolves, half of their number at least buried by the avalanche, were confused and disorganised. The armoured cavalrymen smashed into them like a second landslide, driving them back or trampling them under their mounts' hooves. The archers followed this up by raining a sheet of arrows up and over the black furred monsters, forcing them to retreat even more. Sufficient ground had been gained now and once the cavalry pulled back from their charge, the infantry rushed in with a unified battle cry. Amongst their number were several men on horseback, one of which was carrying the royal banner.

Vorador began to swear in several tongues at once. William was riding into battle himself? If that foolish boy king got himself killed then he would lose his only means of locating the artefact Bane needed to access the Lost City. A general and especially a king ought to have better sense than to risk their lives fighting alongside their men. It sounded romantic like some fabled ancient monarch in a saga told by a skald or minstrel, but in reality it was just a way for foolish rulers to get themselves butchered. Right now William was too important to let die.

He was instantly back in the form of a bird, diving down towards the enveloping battle as fast as he could. Before he could reach them, however, the charging army crashed into the Werewolves with William's royal banner in the forefront. Despite what Vorador might have expected, that the Werewolves would immediately leap upon them and rip them to pieces, William's charge actually knocked the dark furred beasts aside and pushed them back, the infantry cutting into the beasts now that the monster's strategic advantage had been ruined.

Vorador levelled out over their heads, a single black bird ignored in favour of a melee of swords, axes, and claws. He flapped his way towards the banner, often having to swiftly circle around to avoid a raised weapon. When he reached the banner he found William on the back of a fine chestnut stallion, chopping with his sword at a Werewolf clawing at his flank. Beside him his armour clad bodyguard Barentein was also mounted, swinging his large broadsword around in wide arcs to guard his king's back.

Despite the ill advisedness of being in direct combat, they were doing quite well for themselves cutting down the beasts that attacked them left and right.

"Bring in the cavalry to hit them again on the right flank!" The boy king called in a momentary break from the fighting, gesturing with his sword. "Drive them back to the edge of the lake!" His order was relayed in the form of two blasts on a horn blown by one of his retainers. Distantly, the cavalrymen began to circle back and draw into formation for another charge. Another direct attack by the horsemen would route the wolves and drive them away, unable to regain sufficient group to harass the army any further.

That was when the beast appeared. Its colossal form set it apart from the other creatures of its pack immediately as it galloped forward, appearing from out of nowhere and lashing out with a powerful arm. Barentein looked up, seeing the creature almost on top of them.

"Your Majesty, look out!" He cried and threw himself almost out from his saddle to protect William's back with his own body. For the gesture he was knocked from the back of his horse with one massive blow. He landed with a clatter of armour and lay prone, dead or stunned, it was hard to say.

William wheeled his horse about to face the new threat but the monster served him likewise. The young king was knocked from his horse and smashed up against a rock. He was helpless, too stunned to move more than sluggishly and the beast was coming for him.

Vorador had no choice. Blurring into his regular form in midair, he dropped down towards the oncoming monstrosity. In an instant he drew Marrow, the blade whistling out of its sheath at his side. As the monster reached for the king with one massive, clawed hand Vorador came down right on top of it, savagely stabbing over and over with the sword. The creature snarled and thrashed about, tearing back and forth trying to dislodge him. Vorador clung on with a free hand, stabbing Marrow as deep as he could into its flesh. But the Werewolf's hide was tough and the muscles tightly compacted, so all he was really doing was irritating the beast.

A massive hand-like paw closed on his leg and before he could dislodge it, he was torn from the monster's back and thrown away. He righted himself in midair and landed a short distance away, sword in hand and held defensively in front.

The beast turned to face him, one hind leg poised on the still quivering body of William's horse which was being fed upon by several of its kin. The thing was a true monster of legend. It towered over the rest of its pack like a giant, powerful arms stretching out wide with claws curved like meat hooks. A slender, long, ferret-like tail swept out behind it, lashing back and forth like an angry snake. Its face was compact and even less Human than its fellows and was almost feline, with wide green eyes and a short muzzle. Along with the large, bushy mane around its neck and running down its back, the creature had more the appearance of a lupine lion than a true wolf.

As it moved its body swayed back and forth as if it were swimming almost, parting the ranks of its smaller fellows. As it came nearer Vorador could see that unlike the others its fur was not entirely black. Streaks of grey shot through its coloration in places along the forearms and chest, and the silver touch gave it a definite outline that seemed only to add to its size. There was no mistaking this creature for anything other than the alpha male of their black variety.

Keeping its eyes on him, the giant monstrosity began to stalk, walking around the Vampire in a tight circle. Vorador kept his sword at the ready, Marrow raised up defensively in front of him. The beast's eyes narrowed and its snout wrinkled as it sniffed the air before it. Then its lips pulled back over serrated teeth and the Vampire saw that the canine fangs at the front were enlarged and curved like those of a snake.

"You bloodsucker!" It growled and the words were barely recognisable. With such large fangs within a short muzzle the voice was so guttural that it sounded almost like it was choking. The anger and rage within the tone, however, was quite clear. The beast tightened its circle around him to almost within grabbing distance for its large arms.

"I smell the cowardly stench of Remus on you!" It continued and confirmed what Vorador had been half suspecting the moment the beast had appeared. Grimly he followed the beast's progress as it circled around him.

"And I suppose you would be the infamous Romulus I have heard so much about?" He asked rhetorically, keeping his expression as blank as possible. Remus' brother was a good two feet taller than his sibling and his body seemed to emphasize strength over speed, the muscle so bulky across the chest and shoulders that it would surely hinder fast movements.

"Has my brother recruited Vampires to do his fighting for him now?" The older brother, Romulus barked back with heavy contempt and derision. "No matter." He stopped circling then and leered forward, pulling his lips back in what might have been intended as a sneer but came across as more of a pained grimace. Vorador glanced quickly off to both sides, taking note of the dozen or more dark furred Werewolves lining up on either side of their alpha male.

"The city is mine!" Romulus spat, still in mid-tirade. "It will stay mine!" Vorador still had trouble following his words but the angry, half crazed tone revealed much. Despite being quick to anger, Remus had been more or less in charge of his facilities. Romulus on the other hand was clearly deranged, a lunatic in wolf skin. "No one has the right to it but me!" He bellowed in a voice that could have rattled window glass. "Not Remus, not his albino defectors, nor even our once and forgotten leader Ewoden!" His claws flexed wide, a telltale sign of impending violence. "Only me!"

Romulus launched himself forward, claws and mouth agape. By now Vorador had fought with his counterpart and brother Remus on two occasions and knew exactly how such a large beast would fight. He sidestepped the lunging wolf and before the creature could turn around to attack again, the Vampire neatly sliced him down his back and across his buttocks and thigh. This time he knew how and where to strike, blade slicing into the weaker flesh between the muscle like a surgeon's scalpel. Romulus screamed and collapsed forward onto his front paws, his hind leg bleeding so much his fur was matted.

Vorador flicked Marrow to discard the blood from the blade.

"You are slower than your brother." He remarked flatly. "And far more moronic, as well." Romulus turned and growled at the Vampire, lips pulled back in a snarl of frustrated hate. Despite his wounded leg spasming violently, he scrambled up and tore at Vorador, the ground churning under his claws. Vorador watched him come and after having dealt with the much faster Remus, it seemed like he was now in the same fight but in a slower motion. He knew what to do and had more than enough time to do it.

Romulus lunged with both arms wide, claws curving inward like the closing doors of a lethal cage. Vorador simply ducked down, rolled forward between his hind legs and in the same motion sliced his belly from naval to crotch. He dived clear as an even louder cry of pain burst from the black creature's maw. He toppled onto one hand, the other clutching at his stomach to keep the gash that had opened from ripping apart and allowing his intestines to boil out. Vorador ached back before he could recover, leaping into the air and performing an intense backflip, slamming both of his heels into the monster's back and forcing the Werewolf to collapse face down on the muddy ground.

"Flee, take your stinking host away and save your life." Vorador told him bluntly, standing back up from the crouch he had landed in. "Persist and I will kill you."

Predictably Romulus did not listen to a word he said and towered back up. Like Vampires, Werewolves could heal even deadly wounds quickly and already the sliced flesh of his belly was knitting back together under his fur.

Vorador risked a quick glance past the Werewolf to where William had been struck down. The king was trying to rise, struggling to get back up to his feet, groping for a sword lost in the mud somewhere off to his left. Neither Romulus nor any of his black furred kin had noticed this yet. Vorador had to keep their attention on him. Defiantly, he held his sword out in front of him, a deliberate challenge.

Romulus growled and then looked sharply off to each side of himself, barking like a feral animal at the other beasts around him. Like a good obedient pack, they surged around their alpha male to charge the Vampire, perhaps a dozen or more.

Vorador met them head-on without hesitation, dancing through their ranks with Marrow whistling through the air. The serrated edge sliced deep as he passed each one and with his free hand he gestured and summoned from their wounds the blood which had been spilled. The first he had cut did not understand what was happening until it was too late and the beast collapsed to the ground, bled dry. The others yelped and quickly backed off out of range. By then, however, Vorador had replenished much of his lost strength.

With strength and stamina restored, the Vampire did not wait for them to attack. He shot forward at Romulus first, darting in past and around two Werewolves that tried to block his way. Speed was truly his ally here for both Romulus and his kin had sacrificed their agility for power. As long as he kept moving they could not touch him.

Swiftly he slid back and forth, dodging over and around the lashing claws and bites directed at him. He was like a buzzing wasp they could not swat, always avoiding their clumsy paws before darting in to sting a bit more. Watching his pack get slaughtered, Romulus dived in himself again, perhaps hoping to score a wound while Vorador was distracted with the others. Vorador, however, had been expecting him to do that and kicked the beast he had been slicing his sword into aside and spun about to face him.

The alpha male swiped and bit at him in mindless fury but always missed and it was driving him into an even higher towering rage, snapping and biting, clawing and slashing in a manic frenzy that was clearly deranged. Vorador avoided it all with the skill of one well trained in the material arts taught by the Serioli. Romulus did, however, have an advantage of size and strength, meaning that while the Vampire's speed made it hard for him to inflict harm, any damage Vorador did in return was insubstantial and healed quite quickly.

In truth, however, and despite having said he would, Vorador was not really trying to kill the beast. He had no need to do so. All he was really doing was delaying him. All around them the battle against the wolves was turning and the Human army was pressing forward with grim determination, cutting whatever beast they could to pieces. Somewhere off in the distance there was a rumbling noise which grew louder and louder. At a critical moment, when that rumbling grew to its peak, Romulus looked up to see what was coming.

That was the instant of laxity that cost him. Vorador struck, Marrow sweeping up in a curving arch that bit through the Werewolf's right arm. The serrated blade parted hide, flesh, and bone as easily as it would carve a fruit. The limb up to the elbow was sent flying, spinning in midair before landing with a wet thud on the ground.

Romulus did not have time to even scream as his front limb was amputated. A second later, the recalled cavalry crashed in for their second attack. They tore in with the bulk of their horses, trampling more of the black Werewolves under their hooves. They thundered by so loudly that the ground trembled. Clutching his spurting stump to his body, Romulus watched as his pack was scattered and driven off. His forces had truly been routed and even he, in his derangement, realised there was no hope of winning now.

He shot Vorador a glare and the hatred in it was palpable. Then he broke off, galloping away swiftly with the rest of his fleeing pack, not even pausing as he scooped up his fallen limb, running off with it towards the north. The cavalry kept going, harrying them and driving them as far away as possible, a rain of arrows fired after to ensure they would not be coming back. As the last of the fleeing pack vanished into the wilderness, the army let out a cheer at the victory.

Vorador did not wait for anyone to notice him once the battle fury died down. He translocated a short distance away at once before anyone could see that amongst them was a clear nonhuman. From a vantage point atop the half shattered cliff, he could see the last few wolves disappear into the wilderness from whence they had come.

-0-

**_"Just how many contenders for the Lost City were there in this game, and exactly what was the nature of the prize we all sought? I did not know and I had the distinctive impression nobody else did either."_**

-0-

Several of the soldiers helped William to his feet. The young king at once pushed back his red chainmail hood, looking around in alarm. When he spotted his fallen bodyguard, he rushed over and quickly began to pry off his dented breastplate. The young man worried feverishly until he pulled it away. Barentein's chest had been caved in at the centre almost completely, the rib cage collapsed inward. Even from a distance Vorador could see that the injury he had received was fatal.

"Barentein…" William breathed and in his voice was genuine sorrow.

"It is bad, is it not?" Barentein asked chokingly from within his helmet. William slowly turned his head to look at him, then reached out and pushed the man's visor up.

"Yes, it is, my friend." He replied as Barentein drew some air painfully into what could only be a collapsed lung. Some soldiers began to gather around, forming a circle although giving them a respectful few dozen feet of privacy.

"Then I have earned a righteous death, Your Majesty." The dying man said, perhaps trying to sound resigned in the hoarse whisper which was all he could manage, though he sounded more afraid than accepting. "It was an honour to serve thee." William's shoulders began to shake.

"Even now, you can't abandon high style, can you?" The young king asked, placing a hand lightly on the dying man's shoulder.

"One must follow one's nature, William." Barentein replied and judging by the way saying it took far more energy than it should, he was nearing his last moments. The man himself seemed to realise this and with seemingly his last bit of strength, he raised his hand and placed it on the young man's wrist in a gesture of camaraderie. "Follow thine and be a king worth the adoration of the people." The gesture became a death grip and it was some time before William removed the dead man's hand and stood up, the sun beginning to set, casting shimmering orange sparkles on the nearby lake.

The army was too deep into enemy territory to send Barentein's body back to their homeland to be buried. Instead a cairn, a burial mound in the Northern style, was quickly erected. Those common soldiers killed were placed on the bottom, officers on top of them and Barentein himself was given the place of honour at the very top. By the time they had finished, the burial hill was a colossal mound on the outskirts of the swamp and the stars were beginning to come out.

The army, fatigued after the battle, made camp to rest before they would begin their southward march through the Fens. Tents were erected and the men huddled close to their fires to eat the food they had carried with them. Vorador waited patiently, keeping William in his sight the entire time. The young king mostly stayed within his own pavilion, talking with his generals. But predictably, when the night was fully upon the camp and the men were taking what rest they could, the Vampire watched as William began to edge from the camp.

He took good care not to be noticed going, having removed his telltale red armour and dressed in a common soldier's chainmail, an ordinary long sword at his side. At a casual glance he would have appeared just like any other soldier in that army and no one even looked in his direction as he casually walked through his own army without being recognised. The young would-be king showed a remarkable talent for disguise.

The young king made his way to the edge of the trees and he did not at all seem surprised to find Vorador there waiting for him. When he saw the Vampire leaning against the trunk of one of the trees, partially hidden in shadow, his expression was filled with grim resignation, so far unlike his usual buoyant manner.

"Why do I keep finding myself in debt to you, Vorador?" He asked and then dismissed his own question with a wave of one hand. "I suppose it's just fate."

"Fate is a sadist." Vorador replied flatly without looking at him. "And never that kind." William came forward but stopped a prudent distance by a mossy rock, resting one foot on it.

"So it was you, then, who caused that landslide?" He asked but again he ignored his own question, instead asking another one, cutting right to the point. "I suppose, just like last time, this intervention comes at a price?"

Vorador turned his head and looked at him. William was certainly not like many other Humans he had come across; slow witted and dim and obsessed with the tedium of their mundane existence.

"I require information." The Vampire admitted. The young king's expression remained grim and there was almost a hint of anger in his eyes.

"And was the information not worth saving Barentein for?" He asked. Vorador fixed him with a level gaze.

"He was your friend." He said quite firmly. "You ought to have saved him." William seemed struck by this, his nostrils flaring and shoulders hunching up under the chainmail disguise he wore, face twitching and eyes wide with indignation. After a moment he relaxed again and Vorador, who had been watching his hands, noticed them drop away from the angered movement towards his sword hilt.

"I really shouldn't be handing out military intelligence just because you see fit to do me the occasional favour." He remarked, some of his old humorous tone returning. Vorador looked past him to the encampment for a moment.

"This has nothing to do with your war." He said.

"Didn't you find the white wolves you seemed so interested in?" William asked, rolling his eyes a tad exasperatedly.

"I did." The Vampire admitted and actually managed to sound a tad embarrassed in front of the king when he added; "Now I need to find a relic." William gave him a quizzical sort of look and then sighed but good-naturedly, apparent good temper restored.

"You are the odd one." He said and in those five words Vorador suddenly gained more respect for Raziel. "What relic?"

"Nothing specific." The Vampire replied. "I am hunting an artefact made out of a rare metal that is capable of drawing energy from the light of a full moon." One of William's eyebrows arched, his face lopsided in an expression of sceptical disbelief.

"A magic metal?" He asked incredulously.

"If you wish to phrase it that way." Vorador replied. Despite how ludicrously he had put it, William seemed willing to contemplate the idea.

"It seems I know not as much of the world as I thought I did." He remarked to himself and then lapsed into a long pause, his eyes cast down to the ground. Vorador watched him and saw the intent expression of a man who was rapidly calculating the pros and cons of an idea in his head. He had seen that same expression many times before, often on the sly who wanted to calculate how best to turn a situation to their advantage.

"As it happens, I do know of such a relic." He began but then predictably added; "And I will tell you where it is, if you do something for me." Vorador's flat, expressionless face was impassive for a few moments. Then he leaned off the tree and walked past the young king, over to the edge of a small pond of stagnant water. A frog sat on the bank, its throat expanding with its baritone voice.

"Assisting you in winning the battle isn't enough in payment?" The Vampire asked, looking up at the moon.

"Not for this." William replied quickly, spreading his hands. "It is only a small request. You needn't go anywhere to fulfil it and I doubt it would take you long." Vorador kept his back to the king so that he would not see the twitch of irritation in his face that he could not suppress.

"And what would you request of me?" He asked, forcing his voice to stay neutral.

"You mentioned once that you were a member of the Serioli forgers." William started and there was an intense quality to his voice. "How good were you amongst them?" Vorador turned at that, looking at the Human over one shoulder.

"I forged the Soul Reaver blade." He replied. Even amongst the Humans, the Reaver was legend. Its dark renown had spread far and wide. All knew of the dark, skull hilted, serpentine blade that devoured the souls of any creature it struck. William's eyes widened in amazement at such a claim. Then a grin spread across his face from ear to ear.

"That's all the credibility anyone would ever need!" He said boyishly and almost rubbed his hands together in relish. He walked up almost beside Vorador. "Well then, greatest and most ultimate blacksmith to ever walk the face of Nosgoth, I wish for you to forge me a sword." The Vampire looked at him with an annoyed expression. He had half expected to be asked something like that when the king had inquired about his time with the Serioli.

"You have plenty of those already." He said with irritation at the suggestion, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the encampment. William shook his hand and made a cutting, negative gesture with one arm.

"No no, I don't want just any common blade." He affirmed with confidence. "I want a symbol of my station; regalia to show to the men of my divine right to rule." William reached up and grasped the air, as though he had grabbed hold of his imagined new toy already. Vorador kept his eyes on him unblinkingly.

"A rule that was hard earned?" He asked. William paused and met his gaze, the two of them standing there silently together. William's expression was unreadable, but Vorador kept his look direct and steady. He had begun to suspect what he knew was quite certain some time ago, and the lack of puzzlement on William's face told louder than words that his guess might have been right.

"Indeed so." The king said and lowered his arm, turning to face him directly. "Make me a sword fit for a mighty king and I will tell you the relic's exact nature and location." Vorador tilted his head and managed an ironic smile.

"Or I could just torture you until you tell me where it is." He counter-proposed factitiously, almost hinting at personal preference. He supposed it would indeed be very satisfying to make this young, arrogant, and self-important upstart squirm on a rack. William burst out laughing at the suggestion and brought a hand to his face to muffle the sound before it could carry back to the encampment.

"Oh, you'd never get me to talk that way." The king replied and his grin was wolfish, pointing over to the nearby tents. "I have a lot of large, armed men right over there that would be unhappy if anything unpleasant befell their king." He gave the Vampire an amused look. "You do not strike me as the sort that has that kind of time to waste." Vorador had to grudgingly concede that was somewhat true. He really did not have the luxury of taking too long. There were too many factions interested in the Lost City. If he wanted to reach the Celestial Arrow he was going to have to beat them to it, even Bane and Remus with whom he had made something of a temporary alliance. He could not afford to get caught up in a vengeful melee with an entire army, especially right now.

"Call it a penalty for not saving Barentein when you could have." William suggested flippantly. Vorador grunted once.

"Your shrewdness is telling." He said. William's smile widened.

"Why, thank you." He said and gave the Vampire a mocking half bow. Vorador considered the matter only briefly and then, forced to it by necessity once more, he nodded once.

"Very well, then, 'Your Majesty'." He said to the young, impudent king in a half mocking tone. "If you want a sword, then I will make you a sword."


	25. 24 Sword in the Stone

It was midnight, the stars twinkling overhead like lofty fireflies. The Human army, exhausted from their battle with the dark Werewolves and more than a little shaken by barely escaping being buried alive by a landslide, were almost dead to the world. The infantry mostly slept where they could for warmth, even against one another. Their fires were kept low to avoid giving away their positions to any scouts of the local forces. Sentries had been posted and scouts were routinely making sweeps of the terrain to the south, in amongst the trees to keep on the lookout for unfriendly spies.

Off-key snores, mixed with random drunken babble, echoed up from the sleeping mass as two large men began to make their way through the curled up forms of their fellows, taking as much care as possible not to make a sound. The two of them carried a large canvas sack between them that made a metallic jingle as they walked, clinking and gently rattling.

As they had been instructed, they took great care not to be noticed leaving, slipping away as the sentries on watch changed shifts. They had both been expressly told that no one was to see them, and if they were discovered they would be disavowed as thieves and hanged on the spot. This made their job somewhat perilous and risky, but they had also been promised great rewards if they performed the task.

These two were an older and younger brother from Uschtenheim, recruited at the point of a sword to this army from the inside of a tavern. They had been trying to escape the recruiters through the back door, but the press gang had placed several men out back to prevent such flight and they had been caught. Neither of them were good fighters and the idea of being involved in any more battles with the natives, mutant wolves, or whatever else this unwholesome land had in store for them was intolerable. The risk of being hanged was worth taking if it allowed them the gold to bribe an officer or two to look the other way and allow them to make off with enough supplies to get back home.

Once clear of the light of the campfires, the two men paused to make sure that they had indeed not been seen. Only then did the younger let out a small sigh of relief. The older man glared at him and held a finger to his lips, reminding his younger brother to keep his mouth shut. They were not quite out of this yet. Quickly they proceeded up and around the debris left by the day's unexpected landslide, the earth still loose underfoot.

They had been told to go to a very specific place some distance to the north and that they would know it when they saw it. With only that vague instruction to guide them they continued on, looking around for anything that might mark their destination. They had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when they almost stumbled directly into the very place.

Hidden from sight of the camp by a large rock was a flat, open area, the perimeter perfectly round. In the exact centre of that circle was a single square block of stone with a smooth top and sides which showed very clearly that it had been carved. The two men stared at it, knowing this was no random place, but had been fashioned to some purpose. The younger man shot his brother a suspicious and worried glance. The elder man shrugged and then pointed to the centre of the circle. Quickly they took the bag they were carrying over to the spot and gently set it down beside the square stone, the contents clinking.

With their task accomplished, neither man was inclined to hang around to indulge their curiosity as to what would happen now. They both made off back towards the camp as quickly as they could go, eager for the reward that would get them out of this nightmare of a campaign.

Vorador watched them go from his hiding place atop the rock, so silent and still they had not noticed him perched there at all, like some gargoyle atop a church leering down and hardly looked at. Humans did indeed have a great skill for not seeing what was right in front of their unobservant faces; it allowed them to see only what they wanted to see and that often changed depending on their religion or culture. How blissful such ignorance must be, he thought idly to himself.

The Vampire waited until they were out of sight and then slid down the side of the rock to the ground, turning to look at the large canvas bag they had deposited with a disagreeable frown marring his face.

It had only been after William had already left to organise all this with the agreement made that Vorador supposed it might have indeed been quicker to hack his way through the encamped army to beat the upstart monarch into telling him what he wanted to know. That being said, he still did not really feel inclined to expend such efforts in pursuing such a bloodletting. While time was of the essence he needed to conserve his energies for important battles, not a meaningless and easily avoided squabble.

Grimly, his face creased in a disapproving frown at his own actions, he started towards the bag on the ground.

-0-

**_"I was out in the cold wilderness to create a sword at the behest of an upstart popinjay with an elevated notion of his own self-importance who continually quipped with what he mistakenly believed to be wit."_**

-0-

He took hold of the bag and began to undo the knots of cord that held it together, its contents inside rattling.

-0-

**_"Had I been told I would be performing such a task when my quest began, I would have thought the informer quite mad."_**

-0-

When the bag opened, Vorador saw inside all that he had requested in order to fulfil William's commission. There was a large blacksmith's hammer, along with a pair of sturdy iron tongs. While they were the most pedestrian of tools imaginable, they were essential to the trade of any blacksmith from any race or time.

Beneath them was the metal he was to re-forge. It was a suit of armour, dented and broken in many places. The breastplate was caved in and the bracers had long claw marks scraped over them. At the sight of the helmet, the Vampire let out an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes. He recognised the armour of Ser Barentein easily enough, all the leather fittings removed, leaving only the dented steel behind. It would seem William would prefer to make something noble of his bodyguard's sacrifice, to let the armour in which he died live on in some other form.

It was a theatrical, bombastic gesture and so typical of the young monarch that Vorador almost felt like laughing about it. Then he set such thoughts aside and examined the metal. It was good strong steel, but not perfect. The Men of this era had not yet learned how to properly smelt all the imperfections out of their ore, but whoever had created the steel for this armour had certainly been gifted, perhaps taught some methods handed down by the Serioli. It was enough for him to work with.

He piled the pieces of armour up on the square rock he had fashioned for the purpose of serving as an anvil. He slipped the tongs into his belt and took up the hammer, standing before the piled mass of metal. Ordinary blacksmiths would require a well-heated forge before they began, but Vorador had been trained in the art of elemental control and was a master at controlling the element of Fire, so such preparation would not be necessary.

-0-

**_"Here I came to a dilemma of my own personality. All that was required of me was to create an impressive-looking sword. I could simply make the fool a weapon that certainly looked monumental but would be near useless in combat and it certainly would serve the fop right for daring to take advantage of me. However, I had never once in my entire career ever made an item that was simply a cosmetic prop. Such a thing would be an insult to both my own skill and the skills of my teachers."_**

-0-

He paused as if in indecision; hammer in hand, looking down at the armour. It sat there, waiting silently, almost expectantly. He stared at it mutely, his expression creasing and relaxing, going back and forth from annoyance to interested consideration. Despite himself, he felt a growing excitement in the task that needed performing.

-0-

**_"Before me, I decided, lay a challenge. I had learned much over the course of my long life and now was the moment to test my skill one last time. To forge a weapon that could withstand the Reaver blade itself if need be. Perhaps I was being as ridiculous as William for considering it this way, but the idea appealed immensely nonetheless."_**

-0-

The crowning achievement of his art had been the creation of the Reaver, a serpentine blade forged from the iron in blood and teeth, a unique alloy. It had been perfectly balanced, a claymore light enough to be wielded like an ordinary one-handed blade but strong enough to cleave through flesh and bones with ease. To attempt to surpass or even equal that weapon with mere ordinary steel would be an impressive task.

Contemplating it in such a manner, all the spirit of competition he had once held in amongst the other novices in the Serioli came back. It was still there even after all this time, the drive to prove himself to be the best at his craft, to earn the respect of his tutors and to prove to himself that he was unmatched at the forge. He had thought such passion had been quenched in him for centuries. To find it aroused again now was both a pleasant surprise and worrisome.

After a brief struggle he yielded to the impulse and with his free hand gestured and called up with his Serioli skill the element of Fire. The square stone before him began to hiss and from within, an intense fire burst up, flames locked inside the stone to prevent the light from being seen from the camp. The rock itself grew near white-hot in an instant. Vorador stood there, feeling the heat wash over him, watching and waiting.

Slowly at first, the broken armour began to glow red. Then its edges became soft and indistinct as the metal started to lose its solidity. Nodding once to himself, Vorador raised his hammer high. As he did he gestured again with his free hand and invoked the Serioli control over the element of Earth. It reinforced the hammer he held, augmenting it so that it transcended its pedestrian nature and origin, becoming in his hand a master's tool.

He brought it down sharply on the metal and again and again, over and over each strike on the metal was accompanied by a gesture from his free hand or a muttered phrase from his lips. Even as he hammered the metal out of its original shape and into a pliable mass, he was infusing it and reinforcing its structure. First with Earth, to make the steel stronger and binding its parts together more tightly. Then he infused it with Air, allowing it to retain its strength while decreasing its overall weight. After that came Water, driving out all impurities, leaving it undiluted and solid; the waste slag dribbling down the sides of the stone cube to the ground. His mastery of Fire was used to bind all these efforts together to make a whole.

For half an hour he continued, until the armour which had once clad Ser Barentein was now a lump of glowing metal, its nature and strength vastly improved. But Vorador was not done yet. Now he had the material he needed, pliable, strong and ready to be moulded into any shape he desired. The real effort at creation would begin now.

The Vampire paused for a moment. The blades he preferred to make were twisted and serpentine, like the Reaver. Even Marrow at his side was similarly shaped although with more jagged edges. He preferred such blades because at such odd angles they could slice through flesh easier. Such a shape would not be desirable, for Humans often found such weapons alien and repugnant and preferred straight blades. This did not mean that straight swords were inferior. They had a far better thrust, allowing them to pierce through armour more easily. That could be improved upon.

Quickly he drew up the design of the blade he wanted in his mind. Perhaps a tad unwisely he compared what he had in mind to the Reaver, pitting the two swords against each other to determine which was superior. Oddly enough he could not come up with a definitive answer. The idea of making a blade to rival the Reaver itself was tantalising and he could not help becoming excited.

He raised his hammer and brought it down, over and over. With each blow he invoked more and more of the elemental lore. As the metal began to lengthen, he took the tongs from his belt and used them to hold the metal in place as he worked. With both hands occupied the elemental incantations he spoke were quick and almost guttural, and correctly speaking them all over and over while physically bashing molten metal into shape took a great deal of concentration. Sweat broke out across his forehead, running down his face to drip and sizzle on the hot metal.

Vorador did not pause. He pressed on, keeping the flow of energies surrounding the emerging weapon going. The metal rippled like the surface of a pond under the blows of the hammer, its very substance visibly rearranging itself under the strikes. He folded the metal often, making layer upon layer and hammering it flat again. Slowly the metal lengthened, stretching out longer and longer until it was a good meter long.

Vorador slowly raised the hammer, drawing it up above his head, his arm tensed. As he did the stream of incantations from his lips came so rapidly that to any outside listener he was babbling high-pitched gibberish. Then with one mighty effort he brought the hammer down on the prepared metal in one massive strike. The shockwave of elemental forces from that strike burst out, making the rocks and stones all around him rattle for a moment and the air flicker as if seen through heat waves.

The metal burst with that blow, fragments of it scattering in many directions. A mixed cloud of dust and steam filled the air, obstructing the view for a moment. When it cleared, lying on the stone cube was a sword blade, perfectly straight with a blood groove down its centre. Its pedestrian shape was not the interesting part, for the metal had been turned snow white by the process, making the blade appear as if it were forged from light itself.

Vorador reached out and picked up the blade, fearing not being burned as all heat had vanished with that one hammer stroke. Pressing one talon to its edge, the Vampire called up the elemental power of Air. While not a master in controlling that element, he knew enough to sheer off the rough edges. Dragging his talon down from base to tip, he watched as the polished surface came into view, the dullness falling to the ground in fragments.

When he was done he held the blade up and examined it by the light of the stars. It was a beautiful blade even if he did say so himself; a marvel to look at and merely holding it he could feel how perfectly balanced it was. Despite its length and size it felt light and flexible, easily able to respond to the slightest movement.

Creating the hilt was easily done. He had enough of the metal left to create a crosspiece, handle and pommel and join it to the blade. Then when this was complete he set about applying the detail with the zeal of a devoted craftsman. No inch of the newly born sword was left unattended, carving decorative and imposing patterns representing the elements that forged the weapon. The symbol for Water was on the pommel. Earth was stretched across the crosspiece. Air was carved into the hilt. Fire's symbol ran the length of the blade.

The sun was beginning to rise again when he was finished and held the complete sword out in front of him, its blade catching the first rays as they peeked over the horizon. Standing there, holding such an excellent blade he had created through sweat and toil, at the behest of a Human he really did not like, Vorador suddenly felt amazingly and dangerously foolish and despite searching for the reason, he could not tell why.

It quite dispelled the jubilation he might with more justice feel at the completion of such a magnificent weapon and was beyond the ordinary dislike of his situation. He had no rational reason for thinking so, but he could not shake the intense feeling that he had just done something that he was going to regret. That feeling puzzled him and left this moment of triumph bittersweet indeed.

With the first light of the sun, the generals of William's army gave out the order to get the men moving to begin the slog southward through the Fens. The officers had to, more than once, resort to kicking quite a few dozen infantry awake and driving the points of their swords into the others. For those that didn't rouse when first ordered they were forced to march without their morning food ration. The camp was methodically broken up as the preparations for the march were performed. As they would be marching through a thickly forested marshland, full of sinkholes and other hidden dangers, equipment such as makeshift rafts and portable bridges were readied.

Scouts were sent out to prowl the land through the swamps in front of the army. It was they who found the small pagan shrine on a hillock protruding from the marshy ground, perhaps a mile from the encampment. Finding the landmark, they pulled back and reported it at once to the generals. This was not a good sign for the army, as their strategy hinged on traversing the swamp quickly and without being seen by as many of the local populace as possible. The presence of a shrine seemed to hint that this place was frequented by some natives at least.

The king, however, was intrigued by the scouts' description of this shrine and ordered the army to march to that hill, much to the chagrin of the generals. Even for such a large body of men with supplies, weapons, and horses to manage, the distance was covered fairly quickly. Soon the army surrounded the hill, most of the men trying to find solid land to stand on rather than slogging through thigh deep muck.

The shrine was an elaborate set of standing stones arranged in three rings around the sides of the hill, the tallest stones at the bottom and each ring composed of smaller stones going up. At the very top, there was a square stone altar on a raised pedestal which was covered in dried herbs and berries, the standard type of offering to be seen on such pagan places of worship. What grabbed everyone's attention immediately, however, was the sword.

Thrust blade down into the altar was the most beautiful sword any of them had ever seen. Its blade was pure white like the light of day, its hilt and crosspiece gold mixed with silver and engraved with strange, heavenly symbols. Such a weapon was clearly a divine relic and out of place among the primitive surroundings of this place of pagan worship.

The men muttered amongst themselves for a little while, looking at their officers and wondering what they should do. Then a few bolder men made their way up the side of the hill to the altar; everyone watching them intently. They walked around the sword a few times to look at it from every side. The small group then talked amongst themselves and after a moment, one of their number was pushed forward towards the altar.

The man hesitated for a moment and then wrapped his hands around the hilt of the sword. Taking hold of it he pulled, trying to remove the sword from the rock. His entire body tensed with the effort but he could not budge it, the sword remaining stuck fast. The men behind him laughed at his efforts.

"Stand aside!" Another of them, a far larger man with wide shoulders and well-developed forearms, chuckled dryly. "Let a real man try!" He knocked the first one aside and took hold of the hilt himself with one hand, giving it a negligent seeming tug. The sword did not so much as wobble. Frowning, he took a hold of it with both hands and tried again. Once more the sword was steadfast. This time a few amongst the army down at the bottom of the hill laughed as well.

"Well lads, looks like we need to search for a real man!" Someone was heard to laugh. Several more made to start up the hill but by now the officers were in place to force them back into position.

The ranks of the army parted and the generals, with the new king in the middle, made their way up the hill. The rest of the group quickly bolted down the other side of the hill, giving their betters the precipice of the hillock undisputed.

The generals all took turns trying to remove the sword themselves one by one and each time they failed, the sword seemingly stuck and immovable.

"Can no one move this sword?" Someone in the army down below asked in wonder. Another one shook his head.

"Only one blessed by the hand of God could do such a thing." He replied in a tone often used by the awed religious. Thus was the conversation in the army started about the nature of the sword. Perhaps it was blessed, a holy relic of some kind, sent by the heavens.

Perched, hidden by the thick foliage of the tree in which he was hidden, Vorador watched this ridiculous pageant unfold with an intense level of disgust. It was almost obscene. He had known Humans were not overly bright, especially in this uneducated era, but what was unfolding below him was utterly foolish.

It was all an act and anyone even the least bit cynical could see it. The sword he had made for William had been lodged in the stone by several of the king's men after they had found this primitive altar, finding it perfect for their purpose. Every man who had tried to remove the sword up to now had been acting, of course. Anyone could remove that sword if they wished; a mere tug would free it. But William was orchestrating this event to make him appear like some messiah sent by the divine elements of the universe. Even now his agents were amongst the troops, whispering their prepared propaganda about the nature of the sword. The lies they were telling were so blatantly obvious that Vorador was faintly surprised their tongues didn't turn black and drop out of their mouths.

William it seemed was a complex character. While he was willing to fight alongside his men proving he was no coward, he was also quite content with manipulating them any way he could. He had an elevated notion of his own social graces but seemed to genuinely grieve and feel for other people. Vorador found he disliked the young king even more for that, for not fitting perfectly into a stereotypical box of Human behaviour and personality. The foolishness of that thought made him pause.

When William finally approached the stone himself, a prearranged hush silenced any conversation amongst the crowd of troops. The king stood before the sword in the stone for a long silent moment. Then he began to slowly raise his hand. The theatricality of this was so blatant that Vorador was seriously tempted in that single moment to use his elemental knowledge of Earth to really make the sword stuck in the stone.

William drew the sword out of the rock with a hiss of metal on stone and held it high in one hand, its tip gleaming in the sunlight. The dramatic vista was like something drawn as an illustration in a children's book and like children, the army before him was suitably impressed. Gasps and shocked murmurs ran through the men without any dissenting cynic to spoil the effect.

At that exact moment, a cloud which had moved in front of the sun began to break up in the wind, casting a shaft of sunlight right down onto the king with his new sword. Obviously William couldn't have prearranged this, but the timing of that could not have been better to produce the effect of making the young monarch look like a living saint.

"Behold! Our King is blessed!" Someone called out into that moment of stunned silence of religious awe. "God Himself favours our young King!"

The army's elation was so sickening that Vorador had to turn his head and look away. Cheers rang out, great cries of jubilation and rejoice.

"Let the word go forth of this wondrous blessing!" One of the generals on the top of the hill called out in a booming voice. With a dramatic wave of one hand the man gestured back to the king with his sword.

"All hail King William…the Just!" He thundered and the army below took up the praise, fists, swords, axes, bows, and lances raised in salute.

"All hail William the Just!" The army called back as one, repeating the call over and over in celebration.

Vorador almost fell out of the tree. He crouched there on the branch, mouth wide open and eyes bugged wide. If he could have seen himself he would not have been amused by his thunderstruck expression of sudden alarm. It all came rushing in on him with such force that his mind refused to function normally.

-0-

**_"What sort of a fool was I?! I should have recognised this sardonic boy for who and what he was immediately! The era in which I was now was just right for the emergence of the historical figure, William the Just! His murder at the hands of a Vampire would set into motion the events and bloody deeds of Moebius' crusade. I had inadvertently and with foolish narrow-mindedness helped set up the sainted King to become the martyred catalyst for the genocide of my own people!"_**

-0-

It ought to have been obvious from the start to him. He should have seen it, should have realised just who he had been interacting with. But he had been so focused on his own goals that he had ignored nearly everything else that had gone on around him.

One thing was very clear, though. The Seer had tricked him into this. There was no way she could not have known about this and had deliberately placed him here to play some part in the timeline, a predestined role set aside for him. Bitterly he remembered the tales Raziel had told him back in his castle, that this was the nature of time travel, that one is destined to make such a journey into the past in order to ensure the continuality of the timeline. He had failed to heed that warning and the Seer had used him.

But what stung the most was his earlier observation about Humans, that they only saw what they wanted and expected to see. The same had just been irreversibly and humiliatingly proven about himself, and it was a bitter message to absorb.


End file.
